


Something I Should Tell You

by bapofficial



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: :))))))))))), Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - One Shot (Music Video), Angst, Betrayal, Friendship, Gen, Power Dynamics, Swearing, mainly daejae btw, oh yes... both in one :), so yeah make sure you're ok with the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bapofficial/pseuds/bapofficial
Summary: Youngjae needs a group of strong allies if he wants to make it out of the Hunger Games alive. Only he can survive, though.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the forty-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

Youngjae rubs his eyes, as if that will make the dismal scene before him any better. They are in what seems to be an abandoned city square: the golden Cornucopia stands tall as the central landmark of the city, like a memorial for some rich musician. The tributes’ metal platforms form a circle around it. Supplies are strewn across the ground like litter. Everywhere he looks, once beautiful but now derelict buildings surround the square, gradually reaching higher as they grow further away; the city is a perfectly constructed valley, encircled by hills. To his left, grey cliffs overshadow the edge of the city, and to his right, a rocky mountain, and at its skirt, a broad line of dark green. Trees!

Heart hammering in his chest, he instantly searches for Daehyun, to show him the way he intends to go. With each panicked or concentrated face that isn’t Daehyun’s, however, Youngjae grows more fearful. He must be on the other side of the square, hidden behind the Cornucopia! _Damn it_. But surely he'll figure it out. Youngjae is from District 7 – where else would he go? _Right?_

Half of the sixty seconds must have passed by now. Five tributes to his left, Junhong is considering the supplies before him. He must have sensed Youngjae’s stare, though: he looks up and scowls. Youngjae didn’t think Junhong was capable of expressing such dislike. He gulps, trying to ignore the discomfort – _he_ was the one who caused it in the first place, after all. He hastily glances at the supplies too. He’ll need food and water. It’ll take him hours to climb uphill to get there, and that is if he can manage it today. If he gets injured, or needs to hide somewhere, he might have to camp in one of the houses.

Brushing thoughts about possible unpleasant surprises in the buildings aside, he moves one leg in front of the other and shifts his weight, ready to sprint. Fist-sized foil packages, like the ration packs they’re given at lunch during summers in the lumber mills, are scattered everywhere. There’s a water bottle a couple of metres from him, and another couple of metres behind that, an axe. An axe! The blade is smaller than the ones at home and in the Training Centre, but it’ll do the job, and at least he won’t feel completely vulnerable until Daehyun finds him. Youngjae smiles in spite of his predicament: the Gamemakers must have put it that close to him on purpose. They must want him to at least have a fighting chance.

The gong booms through the arena, and Youngjae lurches forward. He stoops down to first grab the bottle, and then holds the axe handle down with his foot, as he stuffs his pocket with the bottle and as many ration packs as he can reach from where he is. At the Cornucopia, Yongguk is standing with a sword raised high, red spattered across his face. The twelve-year-old boy from District 6 lies on the floor beside him, completely still. In horror, Youngjae’s hand trembles as he picks the axe up and rises to his feet, and tries to get away on shaky legs.

When he reaches the first building on the edge of the square, he hesitates, before looking back over his shoulder. A few more of the younger tributes are dead, and the concrete is stained with blood. Some are running away from the Cornucopia too, in other directions, but at least a dozen remain in the city centre, battling for possession of all the supplies. Youngjae’s jaw drops when both tributes from District 10 tackle the powerful girl from District 2 to the ground, and spear her through her heart. A Career Tribute, dead within minutes!

After a sharp shake of his head, he finally finds who he’s been searching for: Daehyun has got his hands on a trident, and is wielding it with terrifying precision. The boy he’s fighting stands no chance; the trident plunges into the warmth of his neck, and pulls the life back out of it. Youngjae gulps: which part of Daehyun is the real one? But now isn’t the time for thinking. Daehyun is fully immersed in the horror of the bloodbath, and hasn’t looked about him or noticed Youngjae’s cowering figure. Youngjae doesn’t have time to wait. Somebody else could notice and charge at him at any time. He’s stood here for too long. With one last look at Daehyun, he turns forward and runs away from death.

 

* * *

 

After he finally managed to stumble onto the podium, Youngjae thrust his shaking hands into his pockets. The cameras were sure to catch any sign of weakness. Though his heart was pounding against his ribs, he raised his chin as the bright blue-haired escort from the Capitol asked for any volunteers.

The neat rows of tribute-aged children close to the stage were standing silently, but he didn’t miss the way many shoulders sagged in relief: in the relief that they had been spared. Disgruntled murmuring began near the other end of the square, where the rest of the district had been crammed. They were disappointed in this year’s pickings: the small red-haired girl next to Youngjae was thirteen at most, and she kept using the sleeve of her cardigan to dry her cheeks. Youngjae wasn’t looking too impressive either; his slim body showed no proof of the endless summer hours hacking at wood with an axe, and the boy on the large screen at the side of the square seemed to be a year or two short of the seventeen he really was.

Another unsuccessful Hunger Games for District 7. Nobody volunteered in the child’s stead, and nobody came to Youngjae’s rescue.

Once the mayor’s rambling speech had finished, he was made to shake hands with the female tribute. Despite his own inner turmoil, he tried to squeeze her hand reassuringly: if this was how he felt, he could only imagine the fear that the piece of paper with her name on enveloped her with. He couldn’t tell if it was her hand that was sweating or his, but she didn’t look at him.

A hand on his back ushered him into the Justice Building. His mother shed a few tears, and his father couldn’t look him in the eye. His brother sighed heavily, and said he was sorry. Last year was his brother’s last reaping: Youngjae wondered if his brother would have volunteered to take his place if he had been a year younger. Probably not. Youngjae said his farewells quickly, and boarded the tribute train without raising his eyes from the other tribute’s feet. A backward glance might have been all he needed to make a fool of himself by sobbing. Not for his family or his friends, but for himself.

As soon as the train pulled away from the station, the red-haired girl pushed past him with her hand covering her face, and Youngjae didn’t see her for the rest of the journey. He could do with being alone for a while, too. He saw what seemed to be a lounge, but a tall man sitting back in an expensive armchair, with his feet resting on a footstool, made him hesitate at the doorway. He looked young – perhaps in his late twenties – and was watching the reapings on a flat screen built into the wall, with his hands folded behind his head, and his black suit beginning to get creased. Youngjae had never seen a television like that: the one at home was more like a box, with a grainy yellowed screen that was round at the edges, and flickered if anybody got too close to the antenna on top. Now that he was thinking about it, this was his first time in a train meant for passengers (rich ones at that), and not a dark rusty one for stacks of lumber.

“Either come in or go somewhere else,” said the man in a harsh raspy voice, making Youngjae start. “Don’t just stand there like a lost lamb.” He didn’t have a Capitol accent.

Slowly, Youngjae entered the room, and perched on the edge of a chair. “Who are you?” he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking,” he added hastily.

The man sighed and turned his head to look at Youngjae with his jaw clenched, as if talking to this kid with an expiry date written across his forehead was the last thing he wanted to do. “Have you honestly never seen me before?”

On a better day, Youngjae might have found something familiar in the smooth skin or high cheekbones or sharp features, but right now, his mind was blank. He shook his head.

The man rolled his eyes in disappointment, but there was something vulnerable about his reaction too, as though the man not being recognised hurt his pride or self-esteem. “Kim Himchan,” he drawled, “victor of the 34th Games, and therefore, your mentor in this one.”

“That was ten years ago.”

“I was your age.”

“So how come I’ve never seen you before? You weren’t on the stage today.”

Himchan shifted uncomfortably, but shot him a glare from under his heavy brows. “I was getting ready. It’s not easy, looking this good.”

Youngjae tried not to frown in confusion. Himchan wasn’t wrong – he _was_ extremely handsome – but there didn’t seem to be any effort on his part: he was naturally attractive. Styling his hair away from his face couldn’t have taken that long, and his dark circles hadn’t been concealed at all.

“I’ll rewind to the start. You should see who you’re going to be up against.”

Youngjae fidgeted with the hole in his sleeve as he watched. A tall and shrewd-looking girl stepped forward in District 1, and the boy, though he seemed short beside her, was muscular. A well-built and heavily tattooed boy from District 2 volunteered to be tribute and quite literally thrust his way onto the podium, and the girl looked like she could knock Youngjae out in under a second. The boy from District 3 was younger, but tall and lanky. To Youngjae’s surprise, though District 4 seemed to be Youngjae’s age, he was unabashedly crying. District 6’s female tribute looked twice the size of Youngjae, but the boy seemed twelve years old. All in all, apart from a few weaklings, the odds didn’t seem to be in his favour too much. He’d be lucky to outlive to bloodbath on the first day in the arena.

Then the little girl from his own district was being called up. He wanted to feel sorry for her, but pity wasn’t going to save her life in the arena. Besides, her life meant his death. His stumble was barely noticeable, and he seemed surprisingly calm on camera. Rather than nervous and dismayed at the turn of events, he appeared to be bored, sullen even.

“Have a plan?” Himchan asked with an air of disinterest after the tributes from District 12 shook hands. “You don’t look like you can win through physical strength.”

“I’m alright with an axe.”

“But can you depend on that to win?” he said flatly.

Youngjae fell silent.

Himchan sighed. “Any other physical skills?”

“I don’t know. I’m a fast runner, I guess. I can climb trees. I can swim.”

Himchan nodded slowly in approval. “Anything else? Doesn’t have to be physical.”

Encouraged, Youngjae continued. “I’m good at speaking, usually. I’m a good liar. At pretending, or hiding my thoughts and feelings.” He thought about the effortless lies he told his friends and family, and how easily convinced they were.

“I can see that,” Himchan said, somewhat pleased. “Physical strength isn’t the only way to win. Luck comes in useful, and so does wit, and good allies and sponsors. If you play your cards well in the next week, you might actually have a slight chance.”

“Wow, thanks. I couldn’t have done it without your encouragement and support.”

Himchan let out a bark-like laugh. “If you’re going to cry, you may as well go have a nice sob in the shower now. There’s still a while until dinner.”

Youngjae stared at Himchan in shock. The atmosphere, which had only just begun to feel easy and relaxed, was gone in an instant. His bottom lip wobbled.

“You look pretty surprised to me. I thought you were supposed to be good at keeping your composure.”

“It’s a lot to take when someone reminds you you’ll probably be dead in a week,” Youngjae said bluntly, as he rose from his chair.

Himchan looked unmoved. “Where are you going?”

“Taking up your suggestion.”

 

* * *

 

Panting, he crouches behind a rubbish bin, and reaches for the bottle. He takes one gulp of the water, and pushes it back into his jacket pocket, so he isn’t tempted to drink more.

The day is starting to get warm. He moves so that he’s seated on the dusty pavement, and pulls his legs in tightly as he presses his back against the bin, just in case. He estimates it to have been around twenty minutes since the gong, and he really shouldn’t have stopped so early, but there’s a pain in his thigh, and he figures it’s better to take it in short bursts with frequent two-minute breaks, rather than push himself too hard. He massages his thigh for the second minute, then carefully shifts his weight to his feet again. He should get going now.

A haunting shriek floods down the barren street. It’s followed by another, but this one is cut short by what sounds like a scuffle or a fall.

Youngjae grips the bin handle, and cautiously peers through the gap near the top. Fifty metres away, Red Hair seems to have been tripped to the floor. She’s holding one of her legs with both hands, and is trying to back away from something by pushing her body back with the other leg. The fear and agony on her face is enough to make Youngjae’s knuckles white. He can hear the light sound of footfalls, and then the tall, sly girl from District 1 emerges from a side street, swinging a long knife as she approaches Red Hair’s shuddering figure. It’s then that Youngjae sees the small knife hilt protruding from her shin.

The District 1 girl cackles. It’s a proud, hateful sound. “Did you really think we’d let a weak little twig like you steal this and get away with it?” she sneers as she roughly pats Red Hair’s body down, before snatching a thin black shape from between her clothes. Red Hair twitches violently every time the girl’s hand touches her. “What were you even going to do with this? Did the big boy and girl from 10 put you up to it?” she says in an exaggeratedly childish voice. “Did they promise they’d protect you if you did their dirty work?”

“You’ll never – win,” Red Hair stutters between sobs. “You can – kill – me, but – they’ll make you – pay – for it.”

Evidently surprised at such courage from a thirteen-year-old, the girl freezes, then scans both ways down the street, before relaxing again. “Your big friends aren’t here. They won’t know what happened,” she says silkily.

Youngjae bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. He should do something – not just because the cameras will be trained on him, and the people in his district will be tutting disappointedly – but because it’s right. While she hasn’t been the most cooperative or friendly partner, she’s only a little girl, and the last week must have been a disturbing nightmare for her. But what can Youngjae do, from such a distance? He can’t guarantee his axe will hit its mark, and the District 1 girl has shown how accurate she is at throwing _her_ weapons. Even at close range, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take her on successfully. And if she sees him try to stop or attack her but they both survive...  well then he can say goodbye to any hopes of the Careers letting him in, and with it, that slim chance of coming out of these Games alive.

He has to let her go. He let _Junhong_ go. What is _she_ compared to _Junhong_? Himchan is right. He can’t be emotional if he wants to live. So he closes his eyes when the girl raises her knife, and squeezes them tighter at the sound of sharp metal piercing flesh and bone. It’s repeated a few more times – the girl isn’t taking any chances – until she exhales loudly, and runs back in the direction of the Cornucopia.

Youngjae waits a minute after her footsteps die out for good measure, then uses his frozen hold on the bin handle to hoist himself up. The street is completely silent. There she is, her red hair covering her face, so Youngjae doesn’t have to see her last scream of pain in her dead eyes. He’s seen enough anyway. Her body looks like a slab of meat on a board, hacked at ruthlessly. He can’t tell if her limbs are in the right places. Everything is drowned in blood.

He should go to her. He owes here that much at least. But he can’t. He can’t step any closer to the mangled mass of flesh that used to be a child. _I’m sorry_ , he mouths. He clears his throat, and continues in a hoarse voice. “If I get the chance, she’ll be the first one I kill.”

He hopes that the cameras catch his quiet words, and the audience in the Capitol sits back in awe, surprised at the change from the animated tribute they saw in the interviews yesterday. That they see he has more up his sleeve than he let on. Himchan’s words from late last night echo in his head: _the arena changes everyone._ Until now, he wasn’t sure if he really could do it. Kill. The bloodbath genuinely frightened him. He knew they were capable of it, but to see mass murder like that right in front of you? Nobody could be the same after that. And he thinks he can do it, now. Go ahead with the plan.

The cannon hasn’t gone off yet for Red Hair, but there’s no way she’s still alive. Then Youngjae remembers how it is on the first day: so many deaths within the first hour that they don’t bother sounding the cannon or collecting the corpses until the initial _excitement_ levels down. Looking at Red Hair one last time is the most he can do for her right now, so he does, trying to push down the bile that’s threatening to rise.

He can do it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Semi here ([bapofficial](http://bapofficial.tumblr.com)). As I said in the tags, I've been planning and writing this fic for a while now. It's not in full chronological order (with a running side/past plot) but I had to write it in the right order for it to make sense in my head and flow better, so I had to write more than half of it before I could think of publishing it. So that means I know it'll be 12 chapters, and hopefully I'll be able to stick to updating regularly. This was a really exciting and fun idea to develop, so I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks!  
> \+ thank u mel <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://bapofficial.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/yeahbap)


	2. Chapter 2

He’s been alternating between running and fast-walking for the past three hours, but the mountain with its ring of trees at its foot still looks so impossibly far away. How big is this city? Youngjae digs his hands into his sides harshly, as if that will get rid of his stitch. There’s no way he’ll get there before nightfall, especially now that the midday sun is glaring down on him, and his head begins to throb with exhaustion and thirst. He has his bottle, but he refuses to take more than little sips: he won’t find any water in these dry lanes, where the ants have been digging under the once handsome pavestones, heaving out mounds of sand onto the cracked cobbles.

The sun goes behind a cloud; Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief. He should pause for a break soon, but these streets that he’s reached are too wide for comfort, and there’s nothing large enough to hide behind. He eyes the doors of the houses warily, and slowly reaches to touch one of the door knobs, but not before pulling his sleeve over his hand, just in case. It’s locked. The sky is getting too dark for this time of day. Youngjae peers up and his mouth drops open. The dirty grey blanket covering the sky grows darker before his eyes, so that it’s now closer to black than white. The Gamemakers have started messing with the terrain and climate early. This can’t be a good sign.

Youngjae rushes to the next door, but that’s locked too. He could break it down with his axe, but it’d be obvious from outside. He may as well be waving at any passing tributes from the window. There has to be another way in. There are no small alleys, just wide, open roads. He looks up again. The house has a balcony on the first floor, and there’s a street lamp close enough for him to jump to the balcony from it. The balustrade is dense enough that a hole near the door knob shouldn’t be obvious, especially for someone not looking for one. A faint rumble of thunder in the distance. He checks the road again, but there’s nobody to be seen. He secures the axe in his belt, and starts climbing.

It’s not like climbing a tree. There are no grooves or branches, and his feet keep sliding down the smooth cold metal, but scampering up trees all his life gives him an advantage anyway. The jump is very nearly a fall, but he makes it. Before he breaks the lock, he tries the door anyway, and to his surprise, it swings open.

The bedroom inside is dark and messy: the sheets haven’t been made, the wardrobe doors are open, and clothes are strewn across the carpet, thick with dust. It’s eerie, and he’s scared to explore the rest of the house, but a louder growl of thunder convinces him it’ll do for now. He closes the balcony door, and turns the lock of the other door on the opposite side of the room, presumably leading to the rest of the house.

Leaning against the balcony door, he pulls out a ration pack from his pocket. His hands are damp with sweat, so he tears it open with his teeth instead. The compact mass of mush in a thin layer of pastry to keep it together doesn’t have a distinct taste, but at least its texture is familiar. A taste of home. He snorts. No more food until tomorrow.

_Boom._

Startled, he pulls his axe out, but it’s not from the house, or anything like thunder. It happens again. Oh, the cannon. They’ve decided to announce today’s death toll. Well, so far, anyway. He counts nine. Fifteen left. Surely Daehyun made it out alive. But Junhong…

He takes another sip of water, then, with his hand resting on the axe on the floor at his side, he rests his head back against the wood. The storm doesn’t go any further than distant thunder for a long time. He fights to keep his eyes open, but the fatigue and relief at finding a temporary shelter win over him.

When he wakes up again, the room is even darker than it was before, but the decorative clock on the bedside table tells him it’s still late afternoon. He massages his stiff neck, then stands up to look outside. The cloud is almost black, but more unnerving than that is the wind. Now that he sees the dirt being thrown about with such force, he can clearly hear the roar of it. A gust like that could take Youngjae with it. Even the street lamp is wobbling dangerously.

And then the hail starts. If stones the size of his fist can be called hail, that is. A strong hit on someone’s head could kill them.

Through the storm, he makes out movement across the street. It’s another tribute. Youngjae shrinks back from the window slightly. It’s a boy. He’s pressing himself as close to the outside wall of a house as possible, right under its balcony, and using his hands to shield his head for extra measure. But with wind like this, he doesn’t stand a chance. The boy seems to realise this, too; he desperately shakes the doorknob, but it remains mercilessly bolted closed. He’s tall. He could climb up a streetlamp easier than Youngjae did, but he can’t afford to leave his head exposed like that. Tall.

Shit, it’s Junhong.

The more Youngjae watches, the more he’s sure of it. The shape of his body, the way he moves. Axe in hand, Youngjae runs out of the room and into the corridor he was so nervous about before. He watched Red Hair die, but there wasn’t much he could have done to stop that, realistically. But this? He won’t watch Junhong die, not like this. The rest of the house has the same air of hurried abandonment as the bedroom, but he rushes through it, down the stairs, to the front door, unlocks it, and yanks it open. He’s met with a harsh blast of icy air. Junhong is in the same position, but the wind has picked up, and a gasp of pain escapes his lips when a hailstone hits his thigh. That’ll leave a big bruise. Then he sees the open door ahead of him.

Youngjae desperately motions for Junhong to come. The storm will only get worse with every second that passes. Junhong gapes at him in shock and confusion, but another stone on the same thigh makes his mind up for him. He stoops and ducks his head, and with his arms over it, he sprints across the road. Youngjae opens the door wider and steps out of the way, and closes and locks it immediately after Junhong comes crashing in.

Hands on his knees, Junhong stands panting in the otherwise silent house. Youngjae watches him from the door. He’s soaked, ears red, fingertips blue, and he must be covered in bruises under his clothes, but he shows no visible signs of any injuries.

“Are you… ok?” he asks. What a stupid question to ask.

Junhong looks up at him suspiciously. “Why would you care?” he bites. He focuses on something at Youngjae’s side.

Youngjae looks down, and sees the axe in his hand. He relaxes his grip, and it falls to the wooden floorboards with a dull thud. He’s weaponless now. He observes Junhong: the boy’s eyebrow raises a fraction before he can compose his expression again.

“I have food, if you’re hungry,” Youngjae says carefully.

“Don’t try to do that again. Being nice.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“I mean it.”

Junhong scoffs. “I don’t trust you.”

 

* * *

 

“Want some help?” he said to his red-haired partner, who looked uncomfortable in her heels. He still hadn’t learnt her name. Red Hair would do.

She shrugged, and turned away from him. Her prep team and stylist seemed to have cheered her up. Well, at least her costume wasn’t as bad as it could have been; her rich green dress faded to a deep brown below the waist, as though she had been wading in a muddy river. The crown of leaves and berries in her hair gave her a touch of elegance and magic, as did the floral patterns painted up her arms. Youngjae looked similar, but his long green tunic and brown trousers didn’t produce the same effect as her dress, and next to her, he looked like her elf servant.

Ahead of him, the boy from District 4 climbed onto his chariot. He’d been dressed in a silvery white costume consisting of only shells and scales, but against his sun-bronzed skin and soft features, the overall look wasn’t as ridiculous as it should have been. He wasn’t crying anymore, but he visibly gulped when he looked around at the other tributes. Youngjae gave him a small smile when the boy saw him, but instead of returning it, his eyes widened and he turned to face the front. Well then.

As the first chariot left the stable, the crowd outside roared. District 7’s tributes were out in the open air not long after. Next to Youngjae, Red Hair beamed and waved excitedly at the colourful sea of oddly-dressed Capitol inhabitants. Disgusted, he shifted his weight to the side and only gave stiff, polite waves and a forced smile.

The ride to the President’s mansion was agonising. District 7 didn’t get anywhere near as many cheers as the Career districts, but Red Hair’s childish appearance and behaviour seemed to have won her some admirers in the audience. Next to her, Youngjae’s conduct caused some confusion. He had to stand out if he was going to convince anybody to sponsor him, and acting ecstatic at the prospect of his imminent death like all the other tributes wasn’t going to cut it. He spent the president’s speech avoiding looking at the Capitol citizens around him, and let out a sigh of relief when the chariot finally began to take them to the Training Centre.

Himchan stood gnawing his lip and waiting for them when they stepped off the chariot. “We can try to make this work for each of you, differently,” he said slowly, looking from Youngjae to Red Hair. They both nodded. Youngjae was glad he wouldn’t be forced to act like her. He followed Himchan, his fellow tribute, and their escort and stylists and prep teams to the elevators. The other tributes were queueing up outside in silence. The intimidating boy from District 2 scowled and gave Youngjae a once over, as though sizing up him up. His costume lacked any fabric to cover his torso: his skin was more inked than bare. Youngjae tried to press his anxiety down as he looked the boy in the eye for a split second before giving a curt but humble nod. Not wanting to be humiliated by rejection, he didn’t wait to see if the boy returned it, and stepped away slightly to find himself standing next to the tributes from District 4. The female tribute was busy pulling the seashells out of her hair and off her neck, but the boy noticed him. After a few moments, he hesitantly returned Youngjae’s smile from before the chariot ride.

“Nice outfit,” Youngjae said flatly. “The seashells really bring out the colour of your eyes.”

The boy snorted. He seemed to be thinking of an appropriate response, but ended up with “You just look like a tree.”

“Wow, really descriptive,” Youngjae shot back, a smirk pulling at his lips.

The boy chuckled lazily. Youngjae couldn’t decide how genuine it was, despite coming from a boy so usually obvious in his emotions, from what he’d seen so far. “Jung Daehyun.”

“Yoo Youngjae. The cheering calmed your nerves, huh?”

“I guess, yeah,” he said quietly, after a moment’s contemplation. “It’s nice to see that people like you, whatever the reason.”

Youngjae frowned. These people liked him because they wanted to see him either kill or be killed. Hardly a reason to feel better.

Daehyun seemed to sense Youngjae’s displeasure with his answer, and watched the horses in silence until his stylist brushed against his shoulder as she went in the elevator. “Well, see you in training, Youngjae,” he said abruptly, as he hastened to join her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Youngjae saw Himchan watch this conversation in slight confusion, but he didn’t bring it up for the rest of the evening.  

 

* * *

  

 

Hurt. That’s the first thing Youngjae feels. All this time, he’s been worrying about Junhong, hoping for his safety, for nothing. Then frustration.

“If I wanted you dead, I would have watched you from the window and done nothing about it.”

Junhong doesn’t respond.

“We should go back upstairs. I don’t like this place,” Youngjae says, frowning at the dark hall.

“Aw, is it scaring big Youngjae?”

Youngjae is taken aback by the mocking tone of Junhong’s voice, and the sheer bitterness of it. He swallows his pride, and continues.

“Yes, it is. I was staying upstairs.”

“What about your friends?”

“What?”

“The Careers.”

Oh. “I don’t know. I ran away from the Cornucopia as quickly as I could.”

Junhong cocks his head to the side. “So you’re alone? Is that why you helped me? Get the boy with the nine on your side, use him a bit more? He’s pathetic anyway. Believes you mean it every time you say you do.”

Youngjae bites his lip.

“You’re still wondering how I got a higher score than you, aren’t you?”

Youngjae shakes his head. “I did, but it’s not important anymore.”

Again, Junhong is silent.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Youngjae insists.

After a moment’s contemplation, Junhong’s hand moves to his pocket, where he probably has a small knife. “Lead the way.”

Immediately, Youngjae heads to the staircase.

“Wait,” Junhong calls. “Your axe.”

Slowly, Youngjae goes back to the front door and picks the weapon back up again. Junhong stiffens, but follows Youngjae up to the bedroom. He sets it back down on the floor, and resumes his seat against the balcony door. Junhong stands at the window. A stone bounces off it every few seconds.

“It’s getting even worse.”

“You should probably stay away from the window. I wouldn’t be surprised if those stones could smash it.”

Junhong steps back hastily. He looks lost, sheepish. Hope blooms in Youngjae’s chest for the first time since the gong in the morning. If he helps Junhong or saves his life enough times, will he be forgiven?

“I meant it about the food, by the way,” he says, pulling a ration pack out of his pocket, and tossing it to Junhong, who catches it with one hand. “It doesn’t taste of anything, really, but it fills you up.”

He seems to think about it for a bit, before walking towards Youngjae, and sitting against the bedframe, facing him. He unwraps the foil, and nibbles at the lumpy ration pack.

“Are you tired?” Youngjae asks. “I slept for a few hours. I can keep watch.”

Junhong stares at him apprehensively. “Why would I do that?”

Youngjae sighs impatiently. “As I said, if I wanted you dead, I would have left you out there. But I let you in because, clearly, I don’t what that.”

“What  _ do _ you want, then?” Junhong shoots back.

Youngjae shrugs uncomfortably. Junhong’s stare is penetrating.

“Look, I already… saw the little girl from my district get killed today. Right in front of me, but I couldn’t do anything.” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “I don’t want you to die. Not for myself, but for your own sake.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? “I’d say I’m sorry for everything that happened, and that I didn’t want it to be like this - what I told Daehyun was a lie - but I don’t think it’d change anything.”

“You’d be right.”

Youngjae looks down at his hands in his lap. “If you could even be less tense around me, I don’t know.”

“You feel guilty,” Junhong says slowly. “You’re trying to make yourself feel better by helping me.”

“Does it matter, really? Why I’m doing it? I’m not saying you’re right, but what difference does it make? As long as I’m trying to make up for what I did.”

“I don’t know.”

“If there’s one thing that’s certain, at least you know that if you die, it won’t be by my hands.”

Junhong nods once. 

“You’ll need your strength. Sleep,” Youngjae says kindly.

Avoiding his eyes, Junhong gets up to his feet. He checks to make sure the bed is safe, before curling up in it, with his back to Youngjae. He fidgets a lot, until a good hour after he first lay down, he finally stops moving.

_ What am I doing? _

What is Youngjae playing at? Everything he did during training - listening to Himchan’s harsh advice, sidling up to Daehyun, abandoning Junhong - what was that for? He’s just gone and destroyed all his efforts! And for what? Getting his emotions involved isn’t going to make Junhong see him as a friend again, and even if it does, it’s not like they’ll both live to enjoy that friendship. He can practically hear Himchan’s disappointed sigh. He wonders what the audience is making of all this. 

The storm battles on outside. Youngjae doesn’t realise the anthem is being played until he notices the flickering light. He jumps up and watches the faces of the dead being shone across the sky. The girls from District 1, 2 and 4, the little boy from 6, Red Hair, the boy from 9, and all the tributes from 11 and 12. 

Wait,  _ what _ ? All the female Career Tributes are dead! How? Youngjae can’t believe his eyes. He saw the girl from 2 die, but the other two? In all his life, he’s never known of so many Careers dying on the first day of the Games. Who killed the girl from 1, who murdered Red Hair? Was Red Hair right about the tributes from 10? Did they avenge her, when Youngjae didn’t, or couldn’t? They’re still alive, so if they did, and if they’re responsible for killing the district 4 girl too, then it looks like the Careers have some serious opposition this time. 

Then the Careers aren’t as strong as they’d like to be. Their numbers have been halved, and there’s a threat to their dominance. They need Youngjae. Even without Daehyun having to try too hard to convince them, surely Yongguk and Jongup will realise that. They can’t pick other tributes off so easily with only three of them. Are they even staying at the Cornucopia tonight, or do they not feel confident enough that they can guard it? 

Youngjae may actually have a chance, then. He just needs to go to the trees, and wait for Daehyun and the others. But what about Junhong? He’s still fast asleep, in the same position. What now? Will Junhong want to stay with him in the morning, or will he want to leave as soon as the storm finishes, not knowing if he trusts Youngjae enough anymore to form a temporary alliance? Maybe the latter will be better; without Junhong, he’ll work harder to do what Himchan advised him.

Youngjae goes through the dead tributes again in his head. Wait, but there’s ten. Someone else must have died during the storm, and the sound of the cannon was drowned in all that noise. Maybe they died  _ because _ of the storm. He peers at Junhong again. He could have died too. Youngjae purses his lips.

He’ll leave the decision to Junhong. At least that way, Junhong will feel happier or more comfortable, however much that can be in the arena. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Smash!_

Youngjae fumbles around for his axe in the dark, and clambers upright. Over on the bed, Junhong’s silhouette bolts upright too.

The hailstone on the carpet a metre from the window is almost the size of a human head. Shards of glass across the floor glint in the weak streetlight, and there’s a clean hole in the window.

“Shit, Youngjae. Come away from there,” Junhong says, in a voice muffled from being startled out of sleep so suddenly.

“I can’t even see all the glass.”

Junhong clears his throat. “This way. Come along the wall.”

He must be really out of it. Youngjae feels his way along the walls, past the locked bedroom door, until his knees knock against the bedframe. He makes out Junhong’s pale arm reaching out to him; he follows it with his own hand. Junhong’s hand burns against his skin. His fingers circle Youngjae’s wrist, and he guides him around the edge of the bed to the mattress, and, when Youngjae stays standing, tugs him softly onto it.

Junhong lets go, and shuffles back down the bed to the pillows. Youngjae rests the axe against the bedframe, takes his shoes off and pulls his legs underneath him. What now?

“I can take over the watch, if you want,” Junhong says carefully.

Youngjae tries to read his expression through the shadows.

“I’ve been sleeping for ages, probably. You should, too.”

“It’s ok,” Youngjae begins, but the weariness in his voice is obvious.

Junhong sighs. “You may as well. You don’t know when you might be able to sleep properly again. And anyway, there’s no way I’m sleeping after that thing broke through the window,” he says, gesturing at the glowing hailstone.

“Is it safe, though?” Youngjae asks. “I feel like this is just the start of it.”

“Well, try anyway,” Junhong insists. “Here, let’s swap places. Use the blanket, you’re freezing.”

At a loss for words, Youngjae obliges. He burrows under the sheets, warm from Junhong’s body, and turns on his side to observe Junhong. The boy rubs his eyes, and sits up straighter at the foot of the bed, facing the window. “The door was locked, right?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae replies softly. “I locked the balcony door, too, just in case.”

“Ok. I’m mainly focusing on the window then.”

“Do you even have a weapon?”

Junhong is quiet for a moment. “Does a penknife count?”

Youngjae snorts. “Not exactly. Use my axe.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“How else are you going to protect yourself if something happens?”

“But it’s yours. What are _you_ going to do?”

“Well I’ll be asleep. No point being on watch and seeing something dangerous if you can’t do anything against it. Just hold onto it until morning or whenever you wake me up.”

“I… ok,” he says hesitantly.

The storm is even louder with the hole in the window, but there hasn’t been a second hit. Youngjae pulls the covers higher to cover his ears. “G’night, Junhong,” he mumbles.

Junhong waits until Youngjae’s breathing deepens, before uttering a quiet “Goodnight” back.

It feels like no time has passed at all when Junhong tries to shake him awake.

“Youngjae, wake up. Please, wake up,” he says urgently.

He mumbles incoherently, nose scrunched in confusion.

“Youngjae, _please_ ,” Junhong begs. He shakes him harder.

Youngjae cracks a heavy eyelid open, but he’s still _so_ tired. “What?”

“Something’s not right.”

Through the haziness of his mind, Youngjae hears something in Junhong’s voice that he doesn’t like. Fear. He opens his other eye, too, and pushes himself to a sitting position. His head spins, and basic movements are so difficult.

“There’s something sinister going on,” Junhong continues. “We shouldn’t be this tired. The storm stopped suddenly a few minutes ago, and it’s too quiet.”

“Are you… are you trying to say there’s something that’s making us tired?” Youngjae slurs.

“Something about this house. I’m not sure, but I don’t like it. We should get out of here.”

A scraping sound at the bedroom door.

Youngjae and Junhong immediately twist around to look at it. There it is again, louder. And then the doorknob rattles, and there’s a soft _thump_ as though whoever or whatever is on the other side is trying to open it by force.

“Fuck,” Youngjae whispers. “Another tribute?”

Junhong shudders.

The thumping is joined by the scratching again, and a disturbing, inhuman sound of sniffing.

“ _Mutts_.”

Youngjae stares at Junhong in shock. “Bal - balcony door,” he stammers.

Junhong thrusts the axe into Youngjae’s hand, and tiptoes to the balcony door, picking his way through the shattered glass, rather than going too close to the bedroom door. He unlocks the door as quietly as he can, and opens it only enough to peer outside first. He beckons Youngjae to join him, and pulls the door open fully. Youngjae hastily slips his axe into his belt, steps into his shoes and follows on shaky legs.

The sniffing grows louder. The door rattles after a sharp push.

Youngjae’s head is still foggy. Impatiently, and perhaps fearfully, Junhong grabs Youngjae’s hand and yanks him out onto the balcony, and closes the door behind them. The sky is still overcast, but a more natural colour. There’s nothing to show for the hailstorm that only just finished minutes ago; the ground is dry and dusty again.

“Are you awake?” Junhong asks with a frown. “We’re gonna have to go down by the streetlight.”

“Ok, you go first.” Youngjae slaps his face to get his blood flowing. “Go!”

Junhong looks at Youngjae again, but does as he’s told. Youngjae watches Junhong slide down the pole and out of sight. He swings his legs over the balustrade, leans forward, and wraps his hands around the cool metal.

“Come on!” Junhong hisses from below.

Making his body listen to his mind has never been so hard in his life, but he manages eventually. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, Junhong holds his wrist, and drags him away at a run.

“We need to get away from these houses,” Junhong growls. “There was bound to be a catch: it’s too convenient, having so many places to hide and find shelter.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realised,” Youngjae says breathlessly, “but we’re in a fucking enormous city. Houses - everywhere. It’ll take hours.”

“Well, away from that one, anyway.”

They stop after fifteen minutes, when Youngjae’s panting becomes too heavy. Junhong’s sweaty hand is still wrapped around his wrist, when he leads them behind a garden wall.

“Are you still feeling hazy? Confused?” Junhong demands.

“I’m a bit better,” Youngjae says slowly.

Junhong finally relaxes his grip; Youngjae’s hand drops to his lap.

“What now?”

Junhong looks carefully at Youngjae before replying. “We should split up.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re going to train and prepare for your interviews separately,” Himchan informed him the next morning.

Youngjae shrugged as he reached for another cup of tea. “Fine by me.” He could do with as much tea as possible: his hands were going numb from nervousness at the prospect of starting training today with the other tributes. Across the dining room, Red Hair huffed and left the room, flicking her hair as she went.

Himchan waited a minute before continuing. “When you said you were alright with an axe, were you being modest, or are you really not that good? Surely you worked with the rest of the district during the holidays? Not that you look it but –”

“Well, I’m sorry for not knowing how good I am at using an axe to brutally kill someone. I can use it on wood pretty well, though, thank you very much.”

Himchan let out another one of his bark-like laughs. “So you _are_ good. I want you to show that off in training. Practise throwing some, too. Make sure everyone sees. There’s no point in hiding it. You’re a seventeen-year-old from District 7: of course you’re going to be good with an axe. And if you have the strength to wield an axe, you could probably try some other weapons too: sword, spear, club, whatever. There’s no guarantee that the Gamemakers will put an axe in the arena. Only try some new things after you’ve done that. Right now, allies and sponsors are more important than knowing how to survive in the wilderness; you need to be able to get through that bloodbath with people who will help you for a while, at least. We’re not usually involved in alliances with the Career Tributes, but if you get yourself out and show them what you can do now, maybe they might consider having you.” He paused. “I saw you talking to the male tribute from District 4 last night,” he said in an expectant tone.

“He seems like the most approachable of the Careers,” Youngjae said simply. “May as well start early.”

“Wasn’t he the one who was crying at the reaping? Odd. You reckon he’s faking it for sympathy?”

“I don’t think so,” Youngjae answered slowly. “Even just before the opening ceremony, he looked shaky. But he was smiling and waving during it, so he completely changed from the reaping. If he was going to carry on moping around – if that was his strategy – that would have been the best time to do it. No, now he’s probably trying to make up for it by looking confident; for a Career Tribute, he had a pretty weak and emotional start.”

Himchan nodded, impressed. “So this guy looks like the best way into Career circle? Fine. Try not to completely focus on him, though; if he dies at the start, you need to still have a tie to the Careers. Use him to get to the others, by all means, but try to gain the trust of as many of them as possible, especially that boy from District 2. He doesn’t look like someone you want to have against you. Remember, you’re an outsider to their group. You’ll need to work hard to impress them. They don’t exactly need you.”

“What if… they did?” Youngjae said cautiously.

Himchan turned to face Youngjae fully. “What do you mean?”

Youngjae tried to gather his thoughts. “What if some of them died at the bloodbath? Then their numbers would fall, and they’d feel more vulnerable. They might want me more then.”

Eyes narrowed, Himchan leaned back in his armchair and crossed one leg above the other. “And how are you proposing that’s going to happen?”

“If… if somebody was to drop the idea to some of the other tributes, that they’d have a better chance of survival if they tried to weaken the Careers right at the start? Because normally they’d be too scared to. If a group of tributes got together and knocked off a Career or two, and the Careers killed a few of them in return, then they’d both be weaker. And the Careers might want me more.”

“And what would these other tributes think, if after you hinted that to them, you went and tried to become buddies with the people you hinted at them to kill?” Himchan asked with an arched eyebrow.

Youngjae bit his lip. “Maybe if I didn’t explicitly mention the Careers? But just said it in general terms… that the best way to weaken a big group of allies is to attack them at the start before they have a chance to hoard all the supplies at the Cornucopia?”

Himchan looked unconvinced. “Sounds a bit risky to me. You might end up making more enemies than allies like that. A District 7 kid trying to suck up to the Careers is bound to draw negative attention anyway, but this could make it even worse. You don’t want to confuse people too much, or then everyone will want you dead first.”

“How else can I guarantee being in an alliance with them, then?” Youngjae asked fretfully. “I’ll just be a spare to them! A second resort, a Plan B, who they won’t mind killing even at the start of the Games, if they decide I’m not needed! Then what’s the point in any of this?”

“Stop crying! Get a grip, you need to stop being so emotional,” Himchan snapped irritably, before his sharp features softened slightly. “Go wash your face and calm down a bit. You’ll need your wit and nerves to make a good impression in training. Let’s just see how today goes, and then we’ll see, ok? You still have three days to impress them, and the Gamemakers as well on the last day.”

Youngjae rushed to the bathroom. Only then did he realise his eyesight had blurred from tears of frustration, or maybe even fear. He blindly punched one of the buttons above the sink, and a jet of ice-cold water shot out of the tap. With stiff hands, he splashed it onto his face and rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t want to die,” he whispered to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ok.”

Junhong looks surprised. “I thought you’d object.”

“Why, did you want me to?” Youngjae drawls, smirking.

“Are you for real?” Junhong says, eyes narrowed.

Youngjae laughs. “Sorry, I think I felt too many different emotions this past day, but humour wasn’t one of them, so.”

Junhong rolls his eyes. “What a brilliant time for it.”

“No, you’re right. It’s probably best.”

“What?”

“Splitting up.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess, yeah. Splitting up. Best.”

“You don’t have a weapon, though.” Youngjae’s brow creases in concern. “How are you going to defend yourself?”

Junhong avoids Youngjae’s look. “I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so, Mr Nine Points,” Youngjae says dramatically, throwing in a mini bow for good measure.

For a miraculous moment, the sides of Junhong’s mouth twitch like he might smile. He seems to fight against himself for a few seconds, before regaining his composure. “There’s something I should tell you.”

Youngjae leans in slightly. “What is it?”

He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “This arena… That storm yesterday. That wasn’t done by the Gamemakers. At least, not directly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t stay long at the Cornucopia. There were these controllers near the horn, these thin black things. A remote controller, basically. I think there are different controllers for different things, like one for the weather, one for starting a natural disaster like a fire or earthquake, and so on.”

“So the hailstorm yesterday was done by a tribute?” Youngjae exclaims.

“Yeah.”

“Wait, the girl from District 1, she took something like that from the girl from my district!”

Junhong pales. “God, we can’t let the Careers get them, or none of us will stand a chance.” He seems to remember something. “I mean, I guess _you’ll_ be happy, but-”

“No. I don’t want them to do well.” He hopes the camera picks up on that.

Junhong frowns in confusion.

“And anyway, she’s dead. Whoever killed her must have taken it off her. I think it’s the two from 10. They’re up to something.”

“Oh, yeah, that as well. The girl from your district and the two from 10. That was her idea, killing as many Careers as possible at the bloodbath.”

 _Her_ idea? Then Youngjae remembers: she had just left the room. Of course. But why would she want to help him? Well, she benefited from it too, he supposes. So will everyone else. She must have thought it’d be nice for the Careers to be at a disadvantage for once.

“How do you know all of this?”

Junhong pouts smugly. “Well I overheard them talking at lunch on the second day of training, when I had nothing better to do other than eavesdrop.”

Youngjae looks away.

“And the controllers: I have one.” He immediately regrets revealing that. “You’re not… going to try and take it off me, are you?” he says timidly.

“Why the hell would I do that? Damn, I’m not that bad.”

Junhong bows his head.

“Is it alright if I see?” Youngjae asks. “I won’t touch it,” he adds quickly.

Nodding, Junhong takes it out of his side pocket. It’s just as he described, and what the District 1 girl took from Red Hair. One side is slightly rounded. Junhong clicks the flat side up: it’s a lid. Inside, there are a dozen buttons, each with an icon of what pressing it will do. A hurricane, a landslide, a pest infestation, an earthquake, a fire…

Youngjae’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _You_ took the natural disasters one?”

Junhong grins slyly. “Except… they won’t be very _natural_.”

“Oh my god,” Youngjae says, staring at him in awe. “Surely you could wipe us all out with that, like, right now?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. It must be pretty small scale, because otherwise we’d all die. I think I point it in a direction, or at a person, and it only affects them, or a small area. Definitely not the whole arena.”

“Well, what can I say? Use it wisely.” He pauses. “What about yesterday’s storm, though? That cloud covered the entire sky.”

“The weather one is probably different. That’s less destructive, so it has a larger target zone.”

“You’re the one who refused to sleep after one of those hailstones smashed through the window.”

Junhong shudders. “Please don’t remind me. I keep thinking about that scratching sound and-”

“Ok, shush,” Youngjae says sharply. “I could do without the reminder, too.”

Anxiously, Junhong looks around him, up at the house, over the garden wall and down the street. “We’ve been here too long.”

“You’re right.”

“I guess this is it, then,” Junhong mutters. He pockets the controller. “At least we’re even now.”

“Even?” Youngjae says incredulously. “You didn’t need to show or tell me anything. The only one who needed to try to make it even was me. And I did try.”

Junhong frowns. “You were only making up for your own shitty actions. But you were the one who approached me in the first place. You were the one who helped me relax, and you supported me, and were a friend for me, even if it was just for a day. I can’t deny what you did after hurt me a lot, especially because I kept making excuses for you in my head, and you kept encouraging them, only to slap me in the face with them again, and again. But you must have had some goodness in you, because you really didn’t have any reason to do what you did, that first day. I guess then you realised you had a better chance of surviving with the Careers and not a scrawny boy like me, but hey. I still owed you for it, anyway.”

“It wasn’t my idea, you need to know that,” Youngjae says urgently. “It was my mentor’s. Not the Careers, but, leaving you. I know that sounds like another excuse but, really, this isn’t how I wanted things to be. I was so sorry, and I still am.”

“That’s ok,” Junhong says tiredly. “I don’t really want to think about that anymore.”

“And I didn’t approach you that first day because I wanted you to owe me, so please get that owing thing out of your head. You needed a friend, so did I. And we could have been friends, _would_ have been, if we weren’t here.” Youngjae knows the Capitol will edit this out. They wouldn’t show the possibility of tributes being happier at home, without the Hunger Games, without the prison-like districts. His only audience is Junhong. “If we lived in the same district, and had a good chance of both being alive by the end of the week, we would have been good friends. I know we would.”

Nervously, Junhong looks at him. He searches his eyes for something, and finally, _finally_ , finds it. But it doesn’t bring him much relief: it’s too late, now. At least he wasn’t completely fooling himself the whole time, though. That’s a nice thought, before whatever happens after this. “We would.”

Youngjae smiles softly, sadly. “I’m glad we’re not parting on bad terms.”

“Yeah,” Junhong croaks. “Let’s hope we don’t run into each other again.”

“Or worse, be the last two living,” Youngjae adds.

Junhong makes a strange sound between a snort and a groan. “We’ll see how it goes,” he says as he pulls himself to his feet.

Youngjae follows. Tentatively, he opens his arms, and the wait is agonising, but eventually, Junhong notices and understands the gesture, and steps towards him, placing his hands on Youngjae’s shoulders. When Youngjae wraps his arms around Junhong’s sides, and his hands meet against the boy’s lower back, he feels Junhong go tense, before relaxing slightly and leaning in, closing the gap, and hugging him back. Even if his head awkwardly hovers above Youngjae’s instead of resting in the nook between Youngjae’s neck and shoulder, Junhong stays like that for longer than Youngjae had hoped for. Junhong seems to realise this too, so he draws away quickly.

“Well – bye, then,” he says.

“Goodbye, Junhong. Good luck.”

“Yeah – you – you too.”

Junhong still hesitates, though. For an instant, Youngjae is afraid Junhong will decide against it after all, and ask if they could just stay together. He’s afraid, because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to say no. But it’s not right. They’ve sorted everything out, and said their goodbyes. They can move on, now. They have to move on, now. So Youngjae takes the first step away, then a second, and turns away. He doesn’t look back after he starts running again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi comments make me really happy btw jsyk :)))


	4. Chapter 4

The rain starts as the afternoon wears on. At first, having been on the move for the last few hours, Youngjae welcomes it. The fine cool spray soothes his hot face, and even when it begins to seep through his clothes, it feels good on his aching muscles. But as each drop becomes larger and colder, he understands: the tribute with the weather controller has found a nice sheltered spot again, and is out to punish anyone else who doesn’t.

There’s nothing he can do, though. Nothing he can hide inside, or under. The roofs of the houses, smaller in size now that he’s closer to the edge of the city, only protrude so far, and if the tribute has any sense, they’ll add wind to it like last time. At least it’s only rain. Even if it carries on relentlessly, it can’t seriously hurt him, like the hail could have done. So he keeps going, trying to make it enjoyable in his head, though he grows uncomfortable under his clothes, dripping with water.

The wind does indeed pick up, driving the droplets against his skin like bullets. Worse than that, though, is the cold. Even snow isn’t this bad. He shivers, but the rain shows no sign of stopping any time soon. His face is now numb, and he has to keep using his palm to push back the hair that plasters across his forehead and over his eyes, because he can no longer feel his individual fingers. The tribute must want the others to brave staying in one of the houses. Youngjae knows better.

He wonders where Junhong is, if he found somewhere to stay dry, if he’s safe, or even if he’s alive. No, he’s definitely alive: there hasn’t been a cannon yet today, which in itself is unnerving, because that means the Capitol audience will start to get bored, and the Gamemakers will do something to push the tributes together, or anything else to make it more exciting for them, and horrifying for the tributes. He should stop thinking about Junhong. They’ve parted ways now: they’ve closed that chapter. Time to look forward.

Look forward he does, and for the first time since leaving Junhong, he grins. Or at least, he would grin, if his facial muscles responded. He can clearly see the forest now, only half an hour or so away. It’s a thin, long line of close-growing dark green trees, almost grey, encircling the base of the mountain. He can’t figure out what of kind trees they are, but they’re both tall and wide, with short, stubby branches. Only another half hour of enduring this biting rain, and he’ll have some kind of shelter. He’s shivering too much, though, and he can barely see now through the fast-falling drops. His pace falters, and slows to a trudge. His shoes squelch out water with each step, and suck it back in again every time he lifts them. Their clothing must have been made useless against bad weather deliberately; even Youngjae’s cheap shoes passed down from his brother weren’t this poor.

Finally, there’s more field and garden than house now, and the mountain looms menacingly above him. The ground falls steeply just before the first few trees; it must rise again on the other side. Youngjae wonders where the mountain streams run off to, if there were any. There definitely will be now; even on the tarmac, the rainwater runs down towards the forest in rivulets.

He feels his spirits rise ever so slightly as the ground beneath his feet turns from grey to green. When he comes to the first tree, he reaches out and runs his hand down the bark, desperately trying to feel something, but his skin is too frozen to register the texture. These trees are unfamiliar – he’s never seen ones like these in District 7. He’ll need to find somewhere sheltered to set up camp and hang his clothes, and maybe get some rest as he waits for them to dry.

The ground is even soggier now, and very soon his shoes become covered with mud. He could climb up a tree if he warmed his hands up enough, but the rain penetrates even through the leaves. There’s no way he’d be any drier up there. Gritting his teeth, he shuffles on through the forest, dragging damp twigs and dead leaves behind him. What he’d give to get his hands on the tribute with the weather controller! Or even just a roof over his head, and a soft, warm bed!

Soon, he reaches a clear, shallow river; on its other side, the ground rises again, as he had predicted. The river seems to form a sort of moat for the mountain, then. He looks across the opposite bank again, and sees a tree that is slightly wider than the others, and older, more gnarled and withered. One of the grooves in its bark looks too wide to be a groove, and the colour too dark. Could it be…?

This could be Youngjae’s best chance. Leaving his shoes on – it really won’t make a difference – he steps into the river. He’s surprised for a moment, because it’s deeper than it looks, but even as he wades completely in, it only just reaches his knees. There’s no real current either; it’s oddly still for a river. He stumbles a bit when he steps up onto the other side, but continues towards the old tree, and what he sees makes it worth it. He was right: it’s not a groove, but a crack. With some difficulty, he pulls out his axe, and taps it against the bark. Hollow.

He’s about to cut some more bark away to widen the crack, but he suddenly has an awful thought: what if there’s something inside? Some mutt or other dangerous animal? Well he has his axe, he supposes. He looks around to make sure he still is alone, before raising the weapon, and bringing it down on the tree. It breaks through easily. He swings it a few more times, flinching at how loud he’s being, and yanks the hanging bits of bark away, opening up a hole large enough for him to squeeze through. He thrusts the axe through the gap and uses it to feel the inside of the tree trunk. Though he still can’t feel too much, it’s obvious the inside is empty, so he climbs in too, and pulls the pieces of bark outside back up, to make the crack look smaller again.

It’s dark. Pitch black, apart from the thin ray of green light that shines in from the crack. He rests the axe against the wall of bark, and presses his hands against the soil. It’s damp, but not muddy. Breathing heavily, he pulls off first his shoes and socks, and then his clothes, though with quite some effort, as the material defiantly clings to his trembling body. He crawls to one side and wrings them out as best he can, then drapes them over the head of the axe, apart from his underwear, which he grudgingly puts back on.

Slowly, he backs into the opposite wall of the tree, and leans back, hoping he doesn’t have to endure this for too long, and that Daehyun will find him soon.

 

* * *

 

 

When the elevator doors opened at the large underground training room, Youngjae found that around half of the tributes had arrived already. Of the Careers, only District 1 was there. Under his well-fitting training clothes, the boy from District 1’s muscles bulged even more prominently. Though somewhat daunted, Youngjae shifted to stand closer to him, while the head trainer announced that they would wait until ten before beginning.

The boy was shorter than Youngjae, and seemed slightly younger, but had much broader shoulders and thicker thighs. Up close, though he had a standoffish expression and angular jaw, this didn’t entirely conceal the softness of his eyes. Youngjae wondered if he spent his youth training to fight and kill like the tributes from his district usually did. When the boy finally looked up, he looked taken aback by Youngjae’s unflinching gaze. By District 7 standards, Youngjae’s behaviour was clearly already seen as out of the norm.

“District 7?” the boy asked, though he had seen the square of cloth with Youngjae’s district pinned onto his back. He had a calm voice, so calm it was almost faint.

Youngjae nodded and introduced himself in as cordial a manner as he could muster.

In return, the boy offered a shy, grimace-like smile. “Moon Jongup.”

Youngjae quickly struck up a conversation about nothing. Although Jongup had little to offer to Youngjae’s monologue, he had the decency to appear to be paying attention and make sounds of agreement in the right places, and by the time the last tributes joined the group in the gymnasium, he seemed more relaxed. However, when Jongup caught sight of Daehyun and the rest of the Career Tributes, his demeanour changed immediately; the interest and expression in his face fell to leave the blank look that Youngjae had first seen, and he stood up straight to reach his full height.

The head trainer showed the tributes around the gymnasium and pointed out all the stations for different skills, then retired to her own archery station. Youngjae peered over at Daehyun, who was eyeing the weapon throwing station, where there was a generous selection of tridents on the closest side. Of course: District 4. Daehyun could probably use a trident with as much skill as Youngjae could with an axe, if not more.

Youngjae walked briskly to the station and pulled an axe out of the stand. The grip on the handle was better than the ones at home, and the blade sharper: after all, these ones weren’t used to cut timber every day for a living. He could sense Daehyun’s eyes on him – Youngjae had rushed past him to get to the station first – making him feel nervous. Now was his chance! He tightened his grip on the axe and moved to stand beside the practice dummies, and, with one clean but powerful stroke, sliced its head off.

“Nice,” Daehyun remarked from behind him with raised eyebrows.

Youngjae lowered his axe and turned around. Daehyun was facing another dummy, the trident in his hand raised. He looked so confident, so completely in his element. He thrust it forward with so much force that it went straight through where the heart would be and out of the dummy’s back, and then he pulled it back out again, dragging the dummy’s insides with it.

Youngjae gulped. Daehyun was more emotional and approachable than the others, but this was a sharp reminder that he still was a Career Tribute, and therefore that he wasn’t to be taken lightly. “Nice.”

“Can you throw with that?” Daehyun asked, gesturing at Youngjae’s axe. “You’d be pretty lethal if you could.”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly; he’d rather be frank than arrogant, just in case he wasn’t good at it after all. “We don’t tend to chop wood by flinging an axe at it.”

Daehyun grinned, showing off a set of pearly teeth. “Well today’s your lucky day.”

He was ordering Youngjae to throw. Warily, Youngjae lifted his axe again, and faced the targets. They felt impossibly far away. He felt movement beside him: the boy from District 2 had joined them at the station. Youngjae took in a deep breath, and took aim. Then, with all his hopes and fears, thrust the weapon forward. It lodged firmly into the target, but in the sixth ring from the middle.

“Not bad for a first try; not bad at all,” Daehyun commented supportively, but the scoff from the District 2 boy pierced Youngjae as deeply as the boy’s spear did the second target perfectly.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s shivering too much to sleep. Most of the feeling in his body has come back, but he’s _so_ cold. He even debates starting a fire, but dismisses it quickly; he’d be incredibly lucky to find any wood dry enough.

It’s dark outside as well, now. Youngjae can’t see anything at all. It feels like the darkness will swallow him alive. He feels so lost and lonely; splitting up from Junhong is beginning to feel like a bad idea after all. At least then he had someone to talk to, someone to help and be helped by, someone who he could be sharing body heat with right now. He grinds his teeth bitterly. There are still six ration packs in his pockets, which will last him for another three days, and then he’ll have to find his own food. He should really start tomorrow, just in case he needs the packs later.

There’s nothing he can do now, apart from think. So he thinks about Daehyun. Has he actually convinced the others to come and find Youngjae, or has he decided not to bother? Maybe he hasn’t even figured out that Youngjae would go to the forest? But no, he’s not stupid. He might act silly sometimes, but he’s still a Career. An overly emotional tribute who didn’t volunteer, but still a Career. Youngjae shudders even more violently when he remembers what Daehyun was like at the bloodbath, so concentrated and determined as he cleanly killed the other boy, as if he was spearing a fish to put on the dinner table. How was that the same boy who laughed so loudly at the Career table at lunchtimes, but became so shy when he told Youngjae what he thought of him on the day of the interviews? Youngjae smiles gently at that memory.

He thinks he’ll try again to see if he can sleep, when he hears something above the pattering of raindrops on the leaves and ground outside the tree. Footsteps. An animal, perhaps? It’d have to be more than just a squirrel to make that a sound like that. If possible, Youngjae feels even colder. An animal of prey? A _mutt?_ As the sound grows louder and closer, though, he makes out the sound of rustling fabric and heavy breathing.

“We should take a quick break,” says a male voice. It’s deep and authoritative; he must be an older tribute, around Youngjae’s age at least. “Finish that rabbit.”

Youngjae bites his lip to stop himself from screaming. Tributes, and more than one, at that!

“Good idea,” says a female voice. She sounds a similar age. “Warm up a bit, too.”

“Fucking rain,” a second male voice agrees.

The footsteps halt right beside the tree. There’s another rustling sound, but this time of plastic – perhaps a plastic sheet being spread on the wet ground – before, sighing deeply, the tributes sit down. Youngjae’s heart rate increases dangerously, but he fights to breathe as quietly as possible. Then a sound that almost makes him cry out: a crackling fire. How did they make a fire so suddenly, and with _what?_ It’s stupid, but his eyes water in frustration and envy. So close! A source of warmth, so _close_ , but so utterly out of reach. On top of that, the smell of meat.

“If we ever find out who has the weather controller, I’m going to be the first one to stick a knife through their stupid brains,” the first male says vehemently.

“You reckon the Careers have it?” the second male asks.

The female snorts. “They may have got the Cornucopia, but there were definitely no controllers left. I only saw that girl from 2 steal one of ours, but we got it back anyway when I killed her.”

Youngjae’s eyes widen. Are these the tributes from District 10? Then who’s the second boy?

“Do you think they’ve set out for the mountain yet?”

“Doubt it. Even before you hit that guy from 1 in the head, he didn’t seem to be the sharp type. Can’t say much about the others, but come on. It took us long enough to figure it out. There’s no way they will have yet, at least.”

“What if they have that boy from 7 with them? I didn’t see his picture during the anthem last night, and there haven’t been any cannons today.”

The first boy hisses a curse. “I didn’t think it was possible to hate any of these tributes more than the Careers, until I saw that guy. He’s such a _traitor_ , sucking up to the Careers like that, as if they’ll ever see him like one of their own. Fucking twat.”

“The guy from 4 seemed to like him, though. They were together all the time in training.”

“Apart from the first day.”

One of the boys laugh - probably the second. “Oh yeah, what was that about? With the nerd from 3? And then he just ditched him, probably to impress the Careers.”

“They must be really stupid, then, if they let him tag along. Even from a distance, I could see what a slippery little bitch he was,” growls the first boy. “Wouldn’t trust him with a glass of water; he’d probably try and drown you with it, then cut your throat with the glass. Or your back. Didn’t look brave enough to kill anyone upfront. I’ve not even seen him at all yet; he must have run off during the bloodbath. Pathetic.”

“The meat looks ready,” the second boy says softly, as though trying to calm the first one down.

Youngjae is too horrified to feel hungry as they quickly chew the meat. The boy hates him even more than the Careers! If they realise he’s not even five metres away, trembling in nothing but his still-damp underwear, he’d stand no chance against the three of them. Even the first boy on his own, by the sound of it. A nervous sob threatens to burst out. He clamps his hand over his mouth, then shakes even more in fear that they might have heard him. But they carry on eating in silence for a moment.

“If he ran away at the bloodbath,” the girl says slowly, “then how would he find the Careers? You reckon they had an argument or something, or just decided to drop him?”

“Or the guy just realised they’d probably kill him after a day or two of using him?” the second boy adds.

The first boy groans. “I don’t know. Whatever. We have more important things to think about. Shall we camp here, or carry on? We need to get up the mountain before tomorrow night.”

Youngjae squeezes his eyes shut, begging them in his head to go away.

“The trees are too far apart here,” says the girl. “If we go more uphill, they’ll be closer together, so maybe less rain will fall through.”

The first boy agrees gruffly.

As quietly as he can, Youngjae allows himself to let out a breath of relief, but his nerves are still jittery. They won’t be going that far, and he’ll still be in the same small forest as the boy who seems to want nothing more than to kill Youngjae slowly and torturously. He’ll be lucky if he even gets a wink of sleep tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

 

He isn’t lucky. Although dawn ends the rain, it brings with it a biting breeze, which hurtles down through the crack in Youngjae’s tree, grabs hold of his body and shakes it. He feels so small and vulnerable, sitting in a hollow tree by himself, almost naked, in a large arena where other tributes have teamed up and go tramping around with weapons and bloodlust.  He reaches out to feel the clothes hung on the axe head: they’re no longer dripping, but still cold and damp. An hour after sunrise, though, he reluctantly gets dressed. The tributes from 10 and the other boy should have set off by now, surely.

After listening for any unusual sounds, he carefully pushes the piece of bark out like a door, climbs out, then puts it back in place. Despite his fear, being out in the fresh air is a welcome improvement from the small dark space. Axe in hand, he stretches, then sets off down towards the river. On the way, he looks around for anything to use to make a snare, but his hands are too stiff anyway.

The river is swollen but still. Youngjae watches the fish for a minute, wondering if he could somehow catch some, but decides against it. Any wood he uses to make a fire now will let off too much smoke, and he feels queasy at the idea of raw fish. He feels queasy in general. He fills up his water bottle and goes off in search of other food. Within half an hour, he has a handful of mushrooms, some bilberries, and a few early blackberries. He ambles back to the river to wash them, and takes a seat on a rock partly hidden behind a bush.

As he nibbles on his meal, he wonders if he’d even have the energy to protect himself if someone or something tried to attack him now. His body feels cold, weak and heavy. He doesn’t even feel hungry, but he knows he must be, so ignoring the protests from his stomach, he forces himself to eat.

There’s a splashing sound from the river. Which would be normal, if the river was a normal one that flowed, but it isn’t. Youngjae silently gulps down the last of it, lowers his axe, and creeps towards the bush. There’s another splash. Tentatively, he raises his head, and scans the clearing around the river. Standing in the river with his back to Youngjae and his trousers rolled up to his knees, a tribute pulls a fish off the blade of his trident, and tosses it next to another one on the bank. Daehyun!

His fingers tighten around the leaves. It must be Daehyun, right? Who else could it be? But another tribute moving heavily down his own side of the river, wearing a rucksack and with a bandage wrapped around his head, makes him stay where he is.

“How many?” he asks in a low voice. Possibly Yongguk? Though he’s not completely sure.

“Two!” the tribute with the trident chirps. Definitely Daehyun. “Just go find some plants or something, and I’ll have loads soon, don’t worry.”

Youngjae waits until who he thinks is Yongguk carries on and disappears into the trees. He has to be quick. He’d much rather show himself to Daehyun than be found by Yongguk.

As soon as Daehyun raises his trident again, Youngjae yanks the leaves in his grip to a side. Immediately, Daehyun looks up, and spots the bush. His eyes narrow. He shifts into a defensive stance, then quietly advances to Youngjae’s side of the river. Nervously, Youngjae raises his head even higher.

Daehyun looks surprised at first, but resumes his defensive position as he approaches Youngjae. He only lowers his trident slightly when he stops. “Is that you?” he whispers.

“Is that who?” Youngjae replies. It’s an automatic response that comes out before he can really think about what he’s said.

Daehyun snorts softly. “Only you, Youngjae.”

Youngjae slowly stands up on unsteady legs. “I thought you were above puns like that.”

“You think too highly of me,” Daehyun murmurs with a small smile.

When Youngjae doesn’t move any further, Daehyun crosses behind the bush and stands before him. Youngjae takes in his appearance: he looks relatively unharmed, apart from a dried cut across his left cheekbone, and bruises along the knuckles of both his hands. Though his arms are now at his sides, he still seems tense, and there’s an odd glint in his eyes.

“Daehyun? Where are you?” a voice hisses from the direction of the river.

Daehyun’s head twists to the side. He wets his lips. “I’m coming, one second,” he says. He faces Youngjae again and frowns. He reaches out and touches Youngjae’s jacket. “Why are you so wet?” he whispers harshly. “And cold?” He lets go. “I have to go talk to Yongguk first. Wait here, ok?”

“Isn’t Yongguk in the trees?” Youngjae asks. The question sounded better in his head, but out loud he sounds confused and dopey.

Daehyun seems to think so too, by the worried once-over he gives Youngjae. “No, he’s by the river. Are you… ok?”

“Yeah I’m – fine. Are they ok about me?”

Unconvinced, Daehyun drags his lower lip back with his teeth. “Yeah, they are. They had to be, anyway. It’s not like they have many other options. I should just warn them first, though.”

Youngjae nods.

With one last concerned look at Youngjae, Daehyun leaves him and makes his way back to the river. Youngjae crouches behind the bush again, and watches. Yongguk doesn’t have a bandage on his head, but one around his left palm and wrist instead. As they whisper to each other, Youngjae hears a rustle behind him. He spins round and raises his axe in front of his face. Standing above him is Jongup, pointing a spear towards him, and with a bloodied bandage across his forehead. So it was _Jongup_.

“Hi,” Youngjae says, hoping his voice sounds confident enough. Against all his instincts, he forces himself to put his axe down. “Daehyun and Yongguk are talking at the riverside.”

Jongup doesn’t lower his spear, but doesn’t move closer either. “Do they know you’re here?” he asks gruffly.

Youngjae nods. “Well, Daehyun does. He’s telling Yongguk now.”

Jongup’s face is eerily expressionless as he glances at them, then looks back down at Youngjae. “Why are you still crouching? May as well get up.”

Youngjae laughs nervously. “No offence, but you’re kind of pointing a weapon at me.”

Jongup looks at his spear in mild surprise, before letting his arm fall. “Come on,” he says, as he leaves to join the others.

Not knowing what to make of Jongup’s behaviour, Youngjae stays where he is like Daehyun told him to, and looks as the three of them stand together. Daehyun then turns towards him, and beckons him over with a wave. Tensely, Youngjae gets up and walks towards them.

Daehyun offers him a warm smile, and Jongup looks at him indifferently. Yongguk stares at him under his dark eyebrows, then smiles tightly.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the morning, Youngjae alternated between the throwing station and the close range combat station, desperately trying to improve in the first and show off his skill in the latter. Every now and then, another tribute joined him, but none acknowledged his presence, except for the tall boy from District 3. He stood and watched as Youngjae engaged a Capitol assistant in a mock axe-battle. Youngjae, conscious of his audience, exerted extra force into his swings and jabs. That seemed to have done the job: the assistant complimented him in her odd accent, and the boy stared at Youngjae in awe. Youngjae motioned for him to follow him back to the throwing station.

The boy had the unhealthy look of a child who had grown rapidly in a short amount of time – too short for the food he ate to catch up with his growing demands, or for his limbs to regain their balance and control. Though he was fairly accurate and had the potential to become powerful, the force behind his throws was mediocre at best, and three days wasn’t long enough to change that. He did, however, have long, nimble fingers and an ingenious mind. Youngjae made sure to point this out to him in a flattering tone, to the boy’s pleasant surprise: his cheeks were tinged with pink in glee.

“You might find the knot-tying station useful,” Youngjae said. “Learn how to set up traps to catch food. Or maybe even try archery? You look like you’ll be really good at that.”

The boy let out a short, embarrassed laugh, eyes on his feet. “Thanks, yeah, I might give it a try.”

“Want me to come with you after lunch…?” Youngjae trailed off.

With a start, the boy raised his head and looked at Youngjae eagerly. “Choi Junhong. And sure, that’d be good! If you want to, that is,” he added hastily.

Youngjae tilted his head to the side playfully. “Why not? I was going to go there anyway. We may as well go together.”

Junhong offered him a grateful smile that looked teary under the bright gym lights.

When lunch was announced, Youngjae found that the Careers had already formed a close-knitted group at a table, leaving no space for anybody else. Daehyun laughed at something the girl from District 1 had said in a snide voice. He had a loud carrying laugh, one that made Youngjae wonder why he felt it necessary to force out such a sound. To his surprise, Red Hair was sitting with the tributes from District 10 – both looked seventeen or eighteen – immersed in conversation. What would a thirteen year old have to say that was so interesting to people on the brink of adulthood? Youngjae was aware that Junhong had tailed him to the seating area, and, not wanting to appear weak or unconfident like most of the other tributes, he sat at a small table with him.

Though Junhong was initially cautious, Youngjae figured that he was there because he wanted to talk to Youngjae, get to know him, perhaps form an alliance with him in the Games. Youngjae had certainly acted invitingly. Once he found the right strings to pull, bringing Junhong out of his shell was easy enough. He was a quiet and lonely boy, terrified at the prospect of being thrown into an arena to fight to the death with the other young people in the room. He missed his parents, and he even admitted that he saw something of his brother in Youngjae, which probably made him latch onto him even more firmly. Youngjae grew fond of him, too; the way Junhong listened to him with utmost admiration and attention, and finally found the courage to speak animatedly himself, was a breath of fresh air in this underground waiting room for death. The boy had an odd but amusing sense of humour, and Youngjae found himself genuinely laughing for the first time since he had left his district.

Youngjae spent the afternoon with Junhong, trying out archery, mastering a particular knot, and learning which mushrooms and berries were edible. Junhong could be clingy at times, but Youngjae put that down to fear and desperation. He wasn’t too good at fighting up close, and though he excelled at logical tasks like making traps (despite it being his first try), and his archery was slightly better than his skill at throwing weapons, he stood no chance of defending himself during the bloodbath at the start if the Games. His long legs could probably get him away from the Cornucopia faster than anybody else, but when it came to close-combat, he needed Youngjae. And for some reason, Youngjae didn’t mind Junhong’s persistent presence: he didn’t exactly need Junhong to the same degree, but it was nice to have a friendly, maybe even trustworthy face around. Daehyun hadn’t spoken to him since he threw the axe in the morning, and didn’t act like he ever had. 

 

* * *

 

“Welcome,” he says slowly, extending a hand.

Apprehensively, Youngjae copies the gesture. Yongguk’s rough skin drags across Youngjae’s palm.

“Your hand is really cold,” Yongguk comments.

“Yeah, why?” Daehyun joins in. “And why aren’t you dry yet?”

“What am I supposed to dry myself with?”

Daehyun’s eyes widen. “Didn’t you take a portable fire from the Cornucopia? There were loads!”

“A _what?_ ” Youngjae says incredulously. The Gamemakers really have gone all out this year, haven’t they?

“My God,” Daehyun says loudly. “Where’s the bag?”

“Here,” Jongup says, shrugging out of his rucksack and handing it to him.

Daehyun impatiently yanks the zips down, grabs an apple-sized silver ball, and tosses it to Youngjae, who catches it with both hands.

“Open it.”

Carefully, Youngjae undoes the clasp, and the ball swings open into two perfect halves. The second half seems to be just a lid, but a bright blue flame sparks up from nothing in the the first one. He watches in awe as the ball begins to warm up in his hands. Would it have been so hard for Himchan to send him one yesterday?

“I doubt you’ll need it though,” Yongguk says. “It looks like it’s going to be a hot day.”

He’s right: the wind died down a while ago, and now that the morning is really starting to get on, it’s growing stuffy under the trees.

Sighing, Jongup pulls out a stack of dry sticks from his rucksack, and places them on the ground. “Are you finished with that?” he asks Youngjae, and without waiting for an answer, takes it from him, and sets about starting a fire.

Daehyun steps back to the river to fish, and Yongguk sits down, stretching his legs out. He watches Youngjae standing hesitantly for a while, before patting the ground beside him. Youngjae joins him.

“Youngjae, can you go get some more firewood?” says Jongup. “Just in case this isn’t enough.”

“It’ll all be wet, though. Won’t that make the fire smokey?”

“And?” drawls Yongguk.

“People will realise we’re here,” Youngjae says simply.

Jongup shrugs. “So what?” The fire looks steady.

Youngjae frowns. “What if we get attacked?”

Yongguk half-smiles incredulously. “There’s four of us. What idiot would try to attack us?”

“There were six of you at the bloodbath, but that didn’t stop District 10,” Youngjae retorts.

The smile falls from Yongguk’s face immediately. Jongup stares at Youngjae with raised eyebrows, and even a few metres away, the trident rests limply in Daehyun’s hand.

“I heard about it last night,” Youngjae begins quickly, before the others have a chance to think too much. “The two from 10, and another guy, I don’t know who he is.”

“District 5,” says Daehyun, as he makes his way back to the bank. He tosses more fish onto the pile, but doesn’t go back. “How did you hear? Didn’t they see you?”

Youngjae shakes his head. “I was hidden. They said they had some controllers. And something about that mountain.”

“What?” urges Yongguk.

“I don’t know. They implied they figured something out, and they needed to get to the mountain quickly, for some reason. They wondered if you guys had worked it out too, but then decided you hadn’t, and said you didn’t have any controllers. They camped in the forest overnight, but if they’re so desperate to get there, they must be on their way up right now.”

“Well they’re right about the controllers.” Yongguk purses his lips in concentration. “Are you sure they didn’t know you were there? It might just be a red herring, so they can set up a trap and ambush us.”

“It sounded too natural to be a trick, I think. And they spoke about wanting to kill me, too,” Youngjae says with a smirk. In the light of day and with three armed Career Tributes for company, the boy from 10’s words don’t have quite the same effect. “If they knew I was there by myself, surely they wouldn’t have bothered with all that, and would have just got it over and done with. Either way, they have a head start, and you’re right – if we go to the mountain too and they realise, it’d be easy enough to attack us.”

“So we stay here,” Yongguk says with a tone of finality. “Too many of us have died because of them already. No point trying to seek them out, or following them.”

Daehyun settles down next to Jongup, and gathers the fish to him, ready to cook. “So what’s the plan after this?”

“We rest after this. It’ll get quite hot at midday, so we should find somewhere cool and shady, maybe at the edge of the forest. Explore along the way. Then start hunting in the afternoon.”

“Hunting?” says Youngjae.

Jongup smirks. “Animals, maybe tributes. They have to get knocked out of the Games somehow, don’t they?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Youngjae says with a shrug.

Yongguk watches Youngjae silently as they eat, but to Youngjae’s great relief, doesn’t seem to find much to criticise. They finish the fish – it would go off in this heat anyway – and, at Yongguk’s insistence, leave the remains of the burnt out fire as it is. As they stroll along the river, Daehyun makes them stop a few times to set up a snare, and Youngjae feels his clothes dry and his body slowly begin to warm up and unravel under the filtered green rays of the unnaturally hot sun.

They walk in single file for an hour or two, at first following the river, then back out in the direction of the city. Yongguk leads them without many words, but Daehyun keeps an easy conversation flowing with Jongup and Youngjae, even if it means doing most of the talking himself. Youngjae tries to join in properly, but his mind is elsewhere: will they expect him to attack other tributes too? Not that he wouldn’t do it, but he feels like they’ll be watching him carefully, as a way of testing his value. The more violent, the better. But he’s not here for the satisfaction of it. He’ll kill if he needs to protect himself, or to make sure he’s the last one to survive, but he’d rather stay out of the _hunting_ for now, until he really needs to.

Youngjae volunteers for first watch, but Daehyun scoffs and tells him he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Yongguk takes it instead, but Youngjae doubts it’s out of concern for his health. They’re at the outskirts of the forest now, but several miles away from where Youngjae first entered it; instead of farmhouses, there’s a flat plain of long unkempt grass. Youngjae picks a spot further from Yongguk than the other two, and lies down. Beside him, Jongup and Daehyun fall asleep straight away. Youngjae too feels himself getting drowsy; he would be more guarded, but a full stomach and the late morning heat, as well as finally having three temporary but strong allies, relaxes him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	6. Chapter 6

It’s Daehyun who nudges him awake, when the sun begins to hang lower in the sky. The others are still asleep: Daehyun must have taken over from Yongguk at some point.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to wake you, but we’re going to have to get going in a few minutes.”

Youngjae smiles up at Daehyun sleepily. “S’ok, I slept fine. Why did you wake me up first, though?”

There’s that touch of shyness again from the interview night. “I don’t know. In case you wanted more time to get ready. Or if you wanted to talk or something.”

“Did _you?_ ” Youngjae murmurs as he sits up.

Almost nervously, Daehyun glances at Jongup and Yongguk’s sleeping figures, before looking down at his knees. “It’s been a bit lonely,” he admits.

“ _You’ve_ been lonely?” says Youngjae bemusedly. “But you had two other people.”

“Well yeah, but they’re not that talkative. And we don’t have much in common. It’s hard trying to be friends with people who don’t want to be.”

“They probably don’t think the arena is the best place for that.”

Daehyun shrugs embarrassedly. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be whining about feeling lonely when you were the one who spent the first two days alone.”

He looks so apologetic and vulnerable, with his eyes downcast and his lower lip jutting out, that Youngjae feels the urge to tell him about Junhong. Tell him about how they settled their problems, that Junhong has let it go. How Youngjae feels like a burden has been taken off him, so now he can stop thinking about it, and be freer. So Daehyun doesn’t need to feel bad about Youngjae’s supposed loneliness. But something tells him Daehyun wouldn’t be as enthusiastic about that as Youngjae is.

“It’s ok,” Youngjae says kindly, “we’re all different. And anyway, you make up for it.”

Daehyun looks up in surprise. “What’s gotten into you?” he tries to say teasingly, but the curiosity is too blatant.

“You should wake the others too,” Youngjae says quickly. “If we need to set off soon.”

At first, Daehyun looks disappointed, but then a smirk pulls at his lips. He does as Youngjae says, and the others double check the rucksack. Daehyun takes it this time. He passes round a packet of dried dates, and they plunge back into the forest.

They don’t come across any other tributes in the time it takes them to get to Daehyun’s snares, now promising three rabbits. Yongguk grows increasingly restless, and insists they keep extremely quiet, in case their footsteps are scaring away human prey. But still, they don’t meet anyone, and by early evening, Yongguk can no longer resist Daehyun and Jongup’s wish to take a break and cook the rabbits.

“If we use some damp wood, it might even attract some tributes, like Youngjae said,” Daehyun says in a hopeful tone.

Yongguk grunts, and continues skinning the rabbits with his ridiculously large sword.

Youngjae is collecting firewood by himself when the ground beneath him starts to shake. Immediately, he crouches and presses himself against a tree trunk, eyes wide. Even the tree is vibrating under his touch. Is this what an earthquake feels like? Wait – is this Junhong’s work? But no, why would he?

Then it stops. Axe in one hand and a small stack of wood in another, Youngjae sprints back to the fire. “Did you feel it too?” he asks hurriedly.

The others nod.

“It felt like it came from the mountain,” mumbles Jongup.

“How can an earthquake come from a mountain?” Daehyun says, adding his loud unconvincing laugh for good measure.

“That wasn’t an earthquake,” Yongguk says gravely. “He’s right. It came from the mountain. Those fuckers are up to something.”

A terrific boom knocks Youngjae onto his knees and makes him clap his hands over his ears. It’s followed by more – not as loud but several overlaying ones – as if they sprung from the original, like some sort of chain reaction.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun breathes. “Go – climb a tree – see what’s going on up there.”

Nodding, Youngjae throws down the axe and wood, and clambers up the nearest tree. He gasps when he breaks through the canopy of green: ahead, the mountain is smoke and fire. As he watches, more explosions are triggered, and more house-sized pieces of rock are flung from it towards the forest. Even the smaller rocks are flowing down the slopes like a dry brown wave. The peak of the mountain is gone. He races back down again, and finds himself surrounded by the Careers.

“It’s on fire!” blurts Youngjae. “I don’t know, bombs, explosions. I think it started at the summit, and more bombs keep going off.”

The others stare at him in horror.

“We have to get away from here now! Rockslide. We’ll get crushed!”

He helps them stow away everything into the rucksack, and they rush back towards the city. Behind them, the roars and blasts of the explosions seem to follow them like some sinister thunderstorm. Youngjae’s ears ring.

When they break through the last rank of trees, they stop to catch their breath and look back. Black smoke has been billowing from the mountain ceaselessly, so that it now chokes most of the sky, blotting out the sun. The mountain itself is a burning stump of what it used to be, less than half its original height. The explosions have mostly stopped, though the flames don’t look like they will anytime soon.

“The forest. It’s gonna catch fire too,” Youngjae moans.

Yongguk gnaws on the insides of his cheeks. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“As long as it stops there,” says Daehyun, “and doesn’t spread to the city.”

“The grass can’t have dried yet, though, can it?” Youngjae says.

“It’s been hot all day, though.”

“The ground should still be–”

“Why did that happen?” Jongup interrupts. “Why would District 10 be so impatient to get to the mountain, only to blow it up?”

Daehyun shakes his head. “Beats me.”

“Might not have been on purpose,” Youngjae says thoughtfully. “Maybe they set it off accidentally.”

“And if there were any cannons, it’d be impossible to hear them over all that,” Daehyun adds.

“We’ll find out tonight,” Yongguk says heavily.

  


* * *

   


  


“So let me get this straight,” Himchan said in a pained voice, one hand massaging his temple, and the other gripping the arm of his chair tightly. “You ignored everything I told you to do, and instead teamed up with a useless kid so that _you_ could be beneficial for _him?_ ”

“He’s not useless!” Youngjae retorted hotly. “He’s really clever, and –”

“And I thought your brains were enough for you, but clearly not,” Himchan snapped. “Do you even want to come out of this thing alive? Because to me it looks like you’d rather make some cute new buddies so you won’t die alone in the first minute.”

Youngjae gaped at Himchan in hurt and disbelief.

“If he’s not going to help you stay alive, drop him now.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realised,” Youngjae began in an unsteady voice, “but right now, everything’s just about how I’m going to stay alive. Find someone or something that’ll help me live a few more minutes. Hold on tightly to any rope I find that can tie me to life. And it’s just… I’m sick of… thinking about death all the time. It haunts me in my dreams, then I wake up and have you drill it into me again, then I see the killing-machines I’m going to be up against, hear the Capitol people who can’t wait for the Games to start so they can have some excitement in their lives… I’m a person too. You can’t expect me to function like I don’t have any feelings or worries.” Chest heaving, he stopped to catch his breath, and to his horror, found that his cheeks were wet, _again_. “It was nice to talk to someone who actually likes me for _me_ , someone who I’m not desperate to be allies with for my own selfish reasons, but because I actually want to. Someone I can be _normal_ with.”

And that was it, Youngjae realised, what made Junhong so appealing. Through his actions and words, he offered a simple, normal friendship. Junhong was clever, but he didn’t seem to have any ulterior motive: he only wanted somebody to put his trust in, and to spend what would probably be his last days with. Youngjae, on the other hand, was not so pure – he only thought about himself, and about who he could use to keep himself alive. Or was that just Himchan’s voice in his head? Why had he encouraged Junhong, when he could clearly see that he wouldn’t be as much use to him as the Careers would? Youngjae hurriedly wiped his hand across his face in an attempt to dry it. Maybe Youngjae wasn’t irredeemably selfish. That was a heartening thought.

Himchan looked like he was going to scold Youngjae for crying again, but instead he sighed. “Listen kid, I know what you’re going through: really, I do. I’ve been through this thing before, and managed to come out of it alive. If I didn’t want the same for you, and if I wasn’t sure that what I’m telling you will help you, then I wouldn’t be so adamant about it. But I am, because I want you to win this thing, and honestly? I think you can. I really think you can. I don’t want you to think about death; I want you to think about life, and the comfortable life you’ll be able to live when you get back. I mean, you get to have me for a neighbour! What more could you want?”

Youngjae tried to smile through his tears, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. At least Himchan was trying.

“I understand why you want to befriend that kid. It’s an escape method, isn’t it? A way to pretend you’re not actually a tribute, so you can enjoy a slice of normality in this…” He looked around the room, perhaps remembering that they were most likely being listened to. “…whatever this is. And under any other circumstance, I’d encourage it, and I’m sure you’d be great friends. But now? Now is not the time, Youngjae,” he said softly. “The more time you spend with that kid, the more you’re going to raise his hopes, and how do you know he’s not going to take advantage of you? Even if he doesn’t, you know, realistically, that he’s not going to win. Why lengthen his suffering?”

“No, I’m sure he’s genuine. But anyway, doesn’t everyone at least deserve a chance? One shot at it?”

“He does, and he’ll get it, if he has the wits to run out of there when the gong sounds. But you can’t save him if you want to live yourself. And if he doesn’t make it out of the bloodbath, then honestly, that’s better for both of you. He doesn’t have to live a few more days in fear, and you don’t have to feel guilty or tied down. It’s harsh, but it’s for the best. You know that.”

Youngjae didn’t respond quickly. “What do you want me to do, then?” he said expressionlessly.

“Don’t spend so much time with him. You don’t need to completely ignore him, but just… I don’t know. Don’t train with him. Say you need to train in different things. I want you to go back to working on throwing and showing off your close combat, without seeming like you’ve already made your mind up about who you’ve chosen for an ally. You want to look like you’re still open for joining a different crowd, if you want the Careers to consider you.”

Youngjae made a low sound of agreement.

“And Youngjae? You really need to control your emotions more if you’re going to go ahead with this.”

  


* * *

   


  


“That smoke looks toxic,” says Jongup, looking up at the sky with narrowed eyes. “We should find shelter.”

“One of the farmhouses?” Daehyun suggests.

“No!” exclaims Youngjae. “I stayed in a house during that hailstorm on the first night. There were mutts scrabbling at the bedroom door in the morning. I had to leg it out from the balcony. And it made me feel really drowsy and confused.”

“Really?” says Daehyun. “We stayed in one too, and it was fine. I mean, it was a bit creepy, but there were three of us. Maybe you did something to trigger it, or it sensed your fear or something, or it realised you were alone?”

He wasn’t alone. But Daehyun might be onto something with the others: Youngjae had been too tired to really think about his fear, but the sleepiness Junhong felt while on watch had made him even more anxious.

They end up breaking into a stone barn a few minutes’ walk from the edge of the forest, with narrow glassless windows. At least this is only one big room, with nowhere for any mutts to hide. Youngjae draws the bolt shut behind them. Daehyun beckons him over to help with cooking the rabbit, while Yongguk peers out of the windows suspiciously, and Jongup drags the hay into long piles for makeshift mattresses.

As they’re eating in silence, raindrops begin to drum against the wooden roof. They breathe out a collective sigh of relief. Maybe the grass between the forest and the city will be spared now. Youngjae can’t tell if the sun has set yet or not, but the sky is completely dark. The forest _has_ caught fire: it blazes brightly, twinkling in the narrow window gaps.

Jongup takes the first watch, and then wakes Youngjae for the second. Near the beginning of his watch, the sky lights up, and the anthem plays. Jongup and the others are fast asleep. He tiptoes to the window by Daehyun’s feet and looks up. First, the boy from District 5’s picture. Then the terrible boy from 10, and then the girl too, before the music dies with them. So it _was_ an accident.

He wakes the others up before while it’s still dark, as planned. Turning away from the wide burning torch, they advance stealthily into the city. They go down main roads confidently, checking side streets for any hidden tributes, but with no luck.

“The Gamemakers will start intervening soon if this carries on,” Yongguk grunts. “Not a soul out here.”

“Oh! Jongup,” says Daehyun, “did you see who died during the anthem?”

Jongup shakes his head.

“It was during my watch,” Youngjae says.

“Bloody hell, how early did you pass it over to him?” Daehyun exclaims, pretending to cuff Jongup over the head.

Yongguk ignores Jongup’s disgruntled feigned smile, and turns to Youngjae expectantly.

“Only the guy from 5,” Youngjae says. “The two from 10 are alive.”

“How?” Yongguk snarls. “How can anyone have survived that?”

Youngjae shrugs. “I have no idea. Unless they didn’t go up themselves?”

“What, so they sent the guy from 5 up for them?” Daehyun asks, smiling in disbelief. “And he got blown up, so the other two ran away?” There’s a strange look in his eye.

“It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Youngjae says with a laugh. “I thought maybe I was just _not_ seeing things because I was tired, but no: it finished right after 5.”

“Well if they’re in any state to move, they’ll be coming to the city too,” says Yongguk. “And we’ll meet them when they do.”

They continue in the direction of the Cornucopia. Daehyun said there was nothing left there, but Yongguk is convinced some tributes might be lurking in the area. It’ll take them a while, though. The streets aren’t lit too well: flickering streetlamps are common, as are ones with smashed glass and stolen lightbulbs. Even as the sun first tries to shine through the dim layer of smog left over from yesterday’s explosions, the shadows are deep.

Youngjae starts to lag behind the others. There’s an odd groaning sound coming from somewhere, but he can’t decipher it over Daehyun’s rambling. A scampering of rats behind him. He twists his head to the side sharply. He’s sure he saw something move in the shadows in the alleyway that runs off the side of the road. The groaning is louder now, and it seems to come from the concrete below his feet. There it is again! It’s a figure! Youngjae grips his axe with both hands and holds it before him in a threatening way; the tribute can see him better than he can see them. But they don’t attempt to attack, or run away. Instead, they step sideways, right beneath a weakly glowing streetlight. For fuck’s sake, it’s Junhong again.

They’d hoped this wouldn’t happen. What now? They’re on even footing: not allies, not friends. Just two tributes in an arena. Youngjae could kill him. He doesn’t have a weapon, and Youngjae knows he won’t try to attack. If the Careers see him, they’ll kill him anyway, and grow suspicious of Youngjae for not doing the job himself. This would be a chance to gain their trust, and put Junhong out of future misery. He should kill him.

“Go, run!” Youngjae hisses at him.

Junhong steps back into the shadows, then leaps to the side with a shriek of surprise. With a loud crack, a long split snakes down the flagstones of the alley. The ground thrums impatiently.

Youngjae staggers back. Smaller cracks branch out from the long one. There’s a deafening bang and a burst of smoke from the ground, and amongst the confusion, Youngjae’s body is lurched sideways, and then there’s nothing beneath his feet. He falls.

With a breathless grunt, he slumps back-first onto a rough surface. A sharp pain shoots across his hands, elbows and rear, and his head bounces off the ground painfully. He desperately gasps for air. Above him, the surface of the road feels miles away, and against the pitch black of the walls of the crack, the sky looks paler. The earth and concrete continues to roar around him, and if he wasn’t so still from breathlessness and pain, he’d be petrified anyway. Gradually, it becomes quieter as the bangs grow more distant. Then a silhouette appears against the sky: a face. Junhong’s face.

Why didn’t he listen? Youngjae wants to scream at him to _go_ , before the others see him, but the sound is trapped behind his lips, and he lies there, desperately hoping the boy will understand. He doesn’t. Junhong hesitates for too long.

Youngjae hears the sword cut through Junhong more than he sees it: he only catches a glimpse of the tip of it as it pushes out through Junhong’s front. Then it’s gone again – Youngjae hears it being quickly wiped against the fabric of Junhong’s jacket – and in its place, warm blood spurts out, spraying Youngjae’s face and body three metres below.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops my hand slipped


	7. Chapter 7

With an immense effort, Youngjae manages to drag himself back a little, the jagged rock cutting into his palms. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he watches, entranced, as Junhong’s body leans forward, and then falls down towards Youngjae. He crashes against the opposite wall of the crack first, then hits the ground on his side. Youngjae’s foot cushions his head.

Still, Youngjae is incapable of speech, but he frantically pushes himself upright. He checks to make sure there is nobody else at the mouth of the crack above, before grabbing the cloth at Junhong’s shoulders, and using his hold to pull Junhong’s limp head into his lap. He’s not sure whose blood his hands are dripping with.

Junhong groans – he’s still alive! He opens his eyes slowly and looks up at Youngjae, but he seems to have difficulty focusing. “I did it,” he croaks.

“What?” Youngjae whispers stupidly. He’s not sure if Junhong has heard him.

Junhong whimpers. Youngjae holds the dying boy in his arms, watching helplessly while blood keeps spilling out from both sides of the wound. _Why_ didn’t he run? Junhong takes a deep shuddering breath before trying to speak again.

“The mountain… I… _I_ blew it up.”

Youngjae’s grip slackens.

“There were… more weapons there… and I think… something to control the controllers… some kind of… control panel for the arena?”

 _What?_ “How do you know this?” Youngjae asks, once again.

Junhong smirks, then coughs, and drools blood. “I’m from District 3… I didn’t get that nine for no reason. I wasn’t going to let anyone… have _that_ much power.”

Stunned, Youngjae watches as Junhong struggles to reach for something in his pocket: he pulls out his controller.

“Take it.”

Youngjae hastily wipes his hands on the rough ground around him, then on Junhong’s jacket, before taking the controller from him and stowing it away in an inside pocket. “Why didn’t you go? Why did you just stand there?”

“I wanted to get you out,” Junhong says simply.

Tears prick at Youngjae’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.” With a trembling hand, he strokes a few strands of hair away from Junhong’s damp forehead. “I’m _so_ sorry.” If he hadn’t led Junhong on that first day of training, none of this would have happened. Junhong wouldn’t have stood there in harm’s way to try and save Youngjae’s life, and he wouldn’t be grappling with his last breaths underground in Youngjae’s arms because of it.

Through his pain, Junhong tries to smile. “There’s nothing… to be sorry about. I’m getting away from here quicker now.”

“To a better place?”

“Where we could… be friends,” Junhong murmurs.

Youngjae tries to smile reassuringly. After everything, Junhong still can’t find it in himself to really blame or dislike Youngjae. “Definitely.” The wetness on his cheeks betrays him.

Junhong’s eyes flutter closed. Youngjae keeps stroking his hair, desperately hoping it’s helping Junhong feel a bit more relaxed and cared for, or at least distracting him ever so slightly from the agony. His hand jumps back when the cannon booms. The shy, lonely boy with his odd sense of humour, dead.

He lets his hand drop to the ground as he stays in the same position, staring at Junhong’s face with a vacant expression. Have the Gamemakers managed to get a camera down here too? If they have, then the whole country must be watching him looking at the dead boy with tears streaming down his face: it’s the only death that’s happened today. He pictures Himchan’s disappointed pout, and his raspy voice threatening Youngjae that nobody will sponsor him if he keeps showing so much emotion.

Youngjae blinks and swipes at his cheeks furiously. He has to get out of here quickly: there’s no knowing if the crack will close again, or if the Careers will think him dead and leave. When he feels ready, he gently lifts Junhong’s head off his lap, and pulls the boy to a side. He zips Junhong’s jacket up to cover the worst of the wound, then takes a step back. Junhong would understand, and if Youngjae’s honest with himself, that’s what makes it even worse. He shakes his head: he can’t afford to think about it too much right now. He’ll save it for nighttime.

He’s more aware of the sharp sting in his palms when he presses them against the other wall of the crack, looking and feeling for any footholds in the rock. Youngjae’s ears perk up: he hears his name being called in the distance. Where have the others been all this time anyway? He clears his throat, and calls for help.

The next time he hears his name, it’s closer. Youngjae can tell it’s Daehyun’s voice now, and there’s a hint of fear in it. Youngjae shouts Daehyun’s name. On the surface of the road above him, he hears the scuffling of shoes against concrete, and finally, sees Daehyun peering cautiously down the crack.

“Youngjae!” Daehyun gasps, as he takes in Youngjae’s bloody appearance, and his eyes bulge even more when he sees Junhong’s body beside him. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Can you climb a bit? Here,” he says quickly, kneeling down at the edge, and stretching out his hand. “Try to climb.”

There are no strong footholds, but Youngjae will have to work around it. He digs his right foot above a slightly protruding bump, finds a place to grip with his fingers, grits his teeth, and hoists himself up. His left foot scrapes the wall in vain.

“One more step and it’ll be ok!” Daehyun urges.

“There’s nothing here!”

Youngjae looks up at Daehyun pleadingly. Brows knitted close together, Daehyun shifts to lie face down on the road, and reaches down to Youngjae with both arms. Tentatively, Youngjae lets one of his hands go from the wall, and it meets one of Daehyun’s warm ones. Daehyun gives what should be a reassuring squeeze, but he exchanges Youngjae’s hand for his wrist when he cries out in pain.

“I’ve got you,” he says, wrapping his fingers more firmly around Youngjae’s wrist. “Give me your other hand.”

After one last unsuccessful attempt to find a place to lodge his left foot, Youngjae takes a deep breath and thrusts his arm upwards. Daehyun immediately catches his wrist, and begins to tug him up. It takes longer than Youngjae hoped, and Daehyun grips his wrists too tightly, but he’s overwhelmed by relief when he finally makes it over, tumbling to the ground next to Daehyun, where they both lie panting for a moment. The road has a wide split down the middle for as far as Youngjae can see, and smaller cracks and holes coming off from it. Dust and debris covers the ground, and even crawls up the sides of houses.

Daehyun is the first one back on his feet. He picks up his trident and Youngjae’s axe, which Youngjae must have dropped as the crack opened, then helps Youngjae up too. Anxious to move somewhere more sheltered, he only allows Youngjae a few seconds to look back down at Junhong’s peaceful figure, before wrapping an arm around his waist and steering him to the entrance of an alleyway.

 

* * *

 

 

On the second day of training, Youngjae acted how Himchan wanted him to. At first, Junhong looked unhappy, but a convincing smile on Youngjae’s part, and the explanation that they should train in what they felt would be most beneficial for themselves, was sufficient in satisfying him for now. They had never explicitly spoken about the Games anyway: there was no promise of an alliance, or even any mention of one. Youngjae still felt Junhong glance at him from time to time, though, but he pretended not to notice, instead focusing on the long knife in his hands, and the dummy before him, covered in deep and violent slashes.

“Someone was angry,” a voice commented lightly beside him. Finally: Daehyun.

Youngjae smirked in response. “Got to practise, haven’t I? Don’t know what I might face in there.”

Daehyun was silent, apparently at a loss for anything to say.

“Your friend doesn’t seem to like me much,” Youngjae remarked.

“Friend?”

“The male tribute from 2.”

“Oh, Yongguk?” His mouth stretched into the easy smile that he usually wore around the others, the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t call him my friend. I wouldn’t call anyone here my friend.” He paused. “Just acquaintance, I guess. And don’t take that personally: he’s just like that. He’s pretty sceptical and slow to trust or like people. He’s nice enough, though, once you get to talk to him.”

“Fair enough.”

They fell into silence again.

“How come you’re not with that kid today? The one from 3.”

“Oh,” Youngjae said, and checked to make sure Junhong was out of earshot. “I just let him tag along yesterday for a laugh. We were going to go to the same stations anyway. But he got really clingy and I couldn’t shake him off. I made up some excuses today though, and I finally got rid of him.” He theatrically wiped his brow.

“I see.”

Youngjae shifted his weight uncomfortably. Daehyun was usually talkative; Youngjae had seen how easily he carried the conversation all by himself when he was with the other Career Tributes. This absence of speech was unnerving.

“Where were you planning on going now?” Youngjae asked boldly.

Daehyun smiled again. “I was going to try some survival skills. After all, you’re right: you don’t know what you might face in there. What if there’s no food at the Cornucopia? That’d be awful!” His laugh was so unconvincing it made Youngjae wince. Daehyun wasn’t normally like this with Youngjae. “Come with me, if you want. I think you’ve practised close-range fighting enough.”

Youngjae understood immediately. Daehyun was telling him that Youngjae’s efforts had been noticed, and either appreciated or thought to be unsatisfactory. That Daehyun was inviting him along, though, seemed to tip the balance in Youngjae’s favour.

The mood relaxed as Youngjae and Daehyun wandered from station to station, not really concentrating on any particular skill. Youngjae didn’t see it as time wasted at all: though Daehyun didn’t talk about himself, his small talk and tendency to find humour and delight in the smallest things, laughing heartily unlike before, allowed Youngjae to learn a lot about him anyway. He craved attention and affection, thrived on it in fact, which gave Youngjae an advantage over him, as with the right encouraging words and caring gestures, Daehyun laid himself bare for Youngjae to see. The boy felt everything too strongly, being so careless with his emotions and where he flung them. Though he did live a more comfortable life, as District 4 was one of the Capitol’s favourites, he hadn’t volunteered for the Games – his tears at the reaping showed how he felt about his fate – so he wasn’t as brutish and bloodthirsty as the other Career Tributes. He knew how to wield a trident and had precise aim because it was essential for the industry of his district, and not necessarily because he had been training to kill other teenagers for a twisted sense of glory. But he had access to the ones who had, and together, they’d form a shield for Youngjae.

Daehyun was showing Youngjae a knot they used in District 4 in their nets, when lunch was announced. Youngjae peered at Daehyun cautiously, but there was no need; Daehyun didn’t even ask him to sit at their table, but instead draped an arm across Youngjae’s shoulders, and led him there wordlessly.

As each Career Tribute came to join the table, they fell silent at the sight of Youngjae. The girl from District 1 eyed him suspiciously, and then moved her attention to Daehyun, as if wondering what it was about Youngjae that made Daehyun want to bring him to their table. Yongguk was quiet, but not hostile, which was an improvement. Only Jongup seemed to be apathetic about Youngjae’s presence. He had greeted him more casually than the others, perhaps as he was the only other Career that Youngjae had previously tried to approach, and ate without talking much. From what Youngjae had observed yesterday, he was more of a listener than a speaker anyway.

This odd addition to the Career table didn’t go unnoticed by the other tributes either. Youngjae felt the contemptuous stares of many of the tributes from poorer districts boring into the back of his head, either from jealousy or disgust at his friendliness with the Capitol’s lapdogs, or a mixture of both. What troubled Youngjae more, though, was the look of betrayal from Junhong. He was sitting isolated in a corner, pushing his food around his plate with his chin tucked into his neck, and his shoulders were drooping. Youngjae had been so supportive and kind yesterday, and this complete change of behaviour was too much for Junhong, who had put so much faith into Youngjae so quickly, and now looked so lost and uncertain.

“So,” Yongguk finally said in a low voice. “District 7, huh? You’re not bad with an axe, as long as it stays in your hand. You’re not too bad in general, to be honest.”

In that moment, Youngjae felt more thankful for the distraction from Junhong’s hurt expression than for the compliment. “Thanks. I’ve been using one since I was a child, so I guess that helps.”

Yongguk nodded once.

Sensing the tension, Daehyun began a rambling monologue about something or other, and the exaggerated laugh he threaded into it seemed to do the trick. Soon enough, the others started joining in, though Youngjae thought it best to stay on the outside for a while. Even between the Careers, their speech was stiff and not relaxed. They then turned on him, asking about his district, family and daily life. Although Youngjae didn’t initially plan on giving away too much about himself, he decided that exposing his uninspiring past truthfully would be the best way to raise their opinions of him and satisfy their suspicious curiosity. His increasingly lively descriptions were rewarded with interested responses and further questions. There was still a clear barrier of doubt between him and the Career Tributes – they weren’t ready to trust him in one encounter – but there was also clear progress. Daehyun continued training with him for the rest of the afternoon.

Youngjae found that he was beginning to enjoy Daehyun’s presence, and for its own merits. His flowing words and childish antics brought comfort to Youngjae in this time of stress, but unlike with Junhong, Daehyun’s company didn’t press Youngjae with the need to act responsibly; they were only a few months apart in age, and Daehyun knew when he needed to be mature (though he complained about it often, drawing a chuckle out of Youngjae). On the other hand, guilt nagged at Youngjae whenever he had the mischance to catch Junhong’s eye, or even spot him shuffling dejectedly between the stations, not speaking to anybody else.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you really hurt?” Daehyun asks anxiously. His eyes rake Youngjae’s body, catching on the tattered cloth and drying blood. Youngjae had limped all the way, relying heavily on Daehyun’s support.

“Not that much,” Youngjae says, though it comes out sounding like a question. “I hit quite a few places when I first fell, but I think that’s it. This isn’t all my blood. I’m just a bit winded, and shocked. I heard him getting stabbed, and then he –” Youngjae stops, as though to gather his thoughts. “He fell right on top of me. I don’t think that’s something I’ll be able to easily forget.”

“Did you see who did it?”

“No.”

Daehyun lays his hand on Youngjae’s shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That must have been awful for you. I know you two –”

Youngjae shakes his head. “There’s no point thinking about it too much. He’s gone where he can’t get hurt, and I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” At least that much is the truth.

Silently, Daehyun nods once, but he still stares at Youngjae in concern. He threads his fingers through Youngjae’s hair, and they come away red. “We should clean you up. There’s a first aid kit in the bag, but Yongguk has it.”

They could all do with a wash, Youngjae supposes. Daehyun’s clothes and hair are grey with dust. What must _he_ look like? He feels like shit. “What happened with you guys? Where did you all go?”

Finally, Daehyun looks away. “We only realised you were left behind when we heard the first crack, but we couldn’t see where you’d gone. The road kept opening up between us, so we had to run for it in different directions. We all got split up.” He opens his mouth again as if to ask a question, but decides against it.

“So you didn’t see anyone else around here?” Youngjae asks slowly.

Daehyun looks back at him, then shakes his head. “I came back as quickly as I could. I was so scared the whole time. I didn’t know where you were, and then I heard the cannon.” His voice wavers. “I thought you were –”

“I’m ok, really.” Taken aback by Daehyun’s tone, Youngjae tries to laugh and shove his chest playfully to alleviate the tension, but winces at the heightened pain in his palms.

Daehyun puts the weapons on the ground, takes hold of Youngjae’s wrists again, and gently pulls him down so that they’re both sitting with their backs against the wall. He turns Youngjae’s hands to make the palms face upwards, then rests one on his knee, and takes the other in his own hands. With one, he holds it up, and with the other, he begins carefully plucking stones and dirt out from the cuts.

Touched, Youngjae watches him wordlessly, then takes in Daehyun’s concentrated expression. There are lines on his forehead and between his brows that Youngjae hadn’t noticed before, made more prominent by the thin layer of dust coating his skin. He wants to brush the dust off Daehyun’s face and out of his hair, but he’ll end up leaving a trace of blood instead, so he lets Daehyun get on with it: he’s finished the first hand now, which he lays on his lap, before moving to pick the second one up. Youngjae lets him. Above the main street, a hovercraft materialises, and a claw at the end of a thick wire descends towards the ground to collect Junhong’s body. Youngjae lowers his eyes.

“Do you think they’ll both come back?” he asks. His voice is muffled and croaky; he clears his throat embarrassedly. “Or do you reckon they might use this as a way to split up properly?”

“They won’t split up yet,” Daehyun replies distractedly. “Not while District 10 is still alive.”

Youngjae gnaws on the insides of his cheeks. “So after that, then?” The hovercraft is gone when he looks back up.

Daehyun shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you going to do when District 10 die?”

Daehyun’s fingers freeze against Youngjae’s palm. “What should I do?”

“Stay,” Youngjae says without hesitation. “Stay with me. We can be a team, just the two of us.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Daehyun mutters.

“Why not? The others can leave if they want, but why do we have to?”

“I don’t – tributes don’t normally do that.”

“So? We’ll be safer if we stay together, and stronger.”

“Yeah, but then what happens if we both make it to the end?” Daehyun asks, looking at Youngjae from under his eyelashes. “Youngjae, we can’t both win.”

“I know that,” Youngjae replies insistently. “But neither of us might get there by ourselves. Well, you probably have more of a chance, but –” he breaks off. If the other tributes aren’t doing anything too interesting, the audience’s focus should be on them. “Would you kill me if we were the last ones alive?”

Daehyun’s eyes widen.

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Youngjae teases. He hopes he isn’t going too far with this.

“I’m not sure if I could say the same for you,” Daehyun mumbles, ears pink.

“So you’re not denying it?” Youngjae says with a smug smile to mask his surprise.

Daehyun resumes picking the pieces out of Youngjae’s palm, but more roughly. Youngjae hisses when he accidentally tears off a strip of skin though, so he stops and shoots him an apologetic glance.

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“What?” Daehyun blurts.

“Come on, Daehyun. You’re like twice as strong as I am. I’d have to be an idiot to think of attacking you.”

“So you’re saying,” Daehyun says with a frown, “that the only reason you wouldn’t try to kill me, is because you know you wouldn’t manage it?”

“No, that –” Youngjae punctuates his stammer by exhaling heavily through his nose. “I don’t think I could do it anyway. I mean, I wouldn’t want to, not just that I couldn’t manage it.”

“Why not?” Daehyun asks, poorly concealing his eagerness.

“Why would I want you to die?”

“Well you can’t exactly win if I’m alive.”

“Well no, but that’s how I prefer my friends.” Youngjae knows he’s won Daehyun over with that.

Sure enough, Daehyun’s mouth drops open slightly.

“If we both make it to the end,” Youngjae continues, “then we can still be a team. We don’t need to fight each other. The Gamemakers will send mutts and fire and anything else they want to kill one of us off, and whoever manages to stay alive wins, I guess. That’s fair, isn’t it?” This is dangerous. Either Youngjae’s new approach will spike the interest of viewers and sponsors, or the Gamemakers will see it as subverting the aim of the Games too much, and get him killed off before that can happen.

Daehyun stares at him unblinkingly. When he finally opens his mouth to respond, however, the sound of footsteps puts him on alert. He hurriedly passes Youngjae the axe and takes his own trident, then stands up, pulling Youngjae up with him. They lean flat against the wall of the house, Daehyun in front, trident poised, but then he lowers it again, though the tension doesn’t quite leave his shoulders. Youngjae peers over Daehyun’s head, and spots Yongguk and Jongup picking out a path amongst the gaps.

“You’re alive!” Jongup exclaims when he catches sight of Youngjae, with more enthusiasm and relief than Youngjae expects. “We thought – the cannon –”

“Who died, then?” Yongguk asks, brows furrowed.

Youngjae’s gaze drops from Yongguk’s face to the sword swinging by his side. It’s mostly clean, save for a thin smear of crimson near one edge, where its owner perhaps didn’t have enough time to wipe it off properly.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long! I had my january finals and I didn't want to post at a faster pace than I was writing. happy belated birthday jongup, the love of my life, the moon in my night sky, my favourite snake, my cute lil bun :')

Youngjae shrugs.

Confused, Daehyun glances at Youngjae but doesn’t say anything.

Surely Yongguk must have known Youngjae was in the hole; he’d dropped his axe on the ground beside it, and Junhong was clearly looking down at something, or someone. Yongguk knew Youngjae was there and left him with a stabbed boy tumbling down to join him: he must have thought he was dying. So if Yongguk is going to play oblivious, then Youngjae can play along. He’s not strong enough right now to put up a fight.

“What happened to you?” Jongup asks. “You look dead.”

Daehyun comes to Youngjae’s rescue, telling them what happened from his own point of view, but omitting Junhong entirely. He then suggests they stay in a house for a while to rest, but Yongguk insists they move away from the epicentre of the ‘earthbreak’, as Jongup puts it. After a few minutes of walking, though, it’s clear Youngjae’s limp is holding them back, even with his arm wrapped around Daehyun’s shoulder.

Surprisingly, Yongguk doesn’t seem to be too frustrated, only sparing Youngjae a look of disappointment. Killing must have helped him let off some steam, Youngjae reckons. He drags his foot along the ground even more to stay as far away from Yongguk as he can.

Not long later, Yongguk and Jongup break a door in an alley open, and they file in, Youngjae nervously following at the back. Sensing Youngjae’s uncertainty, Daehyun gives him a small encouraging smile. Youngjae stares back dumbly, taken aback by the simple sincerity of it.

They make camp in the living room. Daehyun heads off to explore the kitchen, exclaiming that at this rate, they’ll be missing lunch as well as breakfast. Youngjae almost rolls his eyes, but Yongguk’s presence in the room puts him on edge. Youngjae sits stiffly in a chair and watches Jongup try to use the portable fire to start the fireplace into action. He fumbles with it more than Youngjae feels is necessary, and nips his finger on the rucksack zip. Perhaps Youngjae isn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable being left with Yongguk, without Daehyun to fill the silence.

Jongup turns to Youngjae once the fire crackles brightly. His cheeks glow, though Youngjae can’t say whether it’s from pride, warmth or unease, or a strange combination of all of them. “Why don’t you have a shower first? You probably need it more,” he adds with an odd smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, just his upper lip stretching above his teeth.

Eager enough to escape Yongguk, Youngjae nods. With his axe resting in his hand, he tiptoes out into the high-ceilinged hall, pushing back creaky doors until he finds the bathroom. He only closes and locks the door behind him after making sure there aren’t any hidden surprises behind curtains or inside cupboards. Peeling his filthy and now bloodied clothes off in the lavishly decorated room makes him realise how dirty he is. It’s only the fourth day of the Games – he’s gone for much longer without washing himself in District 7 – but he’s never had so much earth in his nails, or blood caked behind his ears.

The hot water stings, but Youngjae welcomes it. The injuries from his fall are worse than he thought, and he seems to have accumulated other cuts and bruises somehow over his time in the arena. Once he’s carefully washed his body first and then his clothes, Youngjae stands still under the spray and closes his eyes. Immediately, his last image of Junhong, lying beneath the ground with his jacket zipped up to his neck, takes the place of darkness. Youngjae doesn’t know when he’ll next get a chance to have this much privacy – from the other tributes at least – so he lets the image stay there until his tears join the shower water streaming down his cheeks. He doesn’t think, just sees. Sees the speck of red under Junhong’s eyebrow, the youth in his cheeks, the peace in his expression. Despite the heat, Youngjae’s blood feels cold. He’s had enough.

He pulls the curtain back and steps out of the shower. A little white bundle on the black tile floor catches his eye as he dries off. Careful not to hurt himself as he bends down, he picks it up. The white is a square of fabric, with the corners secured to a silver tin. A parachute: his first sponsor gift. _Himchan._

Youngjae rips the fabric off the tin, then unscrews it. The balm inside is very lightly scented; it would be barely distinguishable over the smell of soap. It’s refreshingly cool on his fingertips, and it immediately alleviates pains and aches where it touches his skin. He’s not sure if it’s antiseptic cream or just a soothing ointment or both, but he didn’t have a dying need for it, really. Not that he isn’t grateful, because he feels a lot better with each rub of it into his skin, but it’s an oddly small and simple gift to receive at this stage of the games: it must have been unnecessarily expensive.

Then why now? To reassure him that some people support him? To boost his morale? The latter seems more likely: he hasn’t exactly had the best day. He wonders if Himchan just wanted to make him feel better. Himchan is the only one who’d understand, after all.

An impatient knock at the door makes Youngjae start. Jongup’s muffled grumbling accompanies the next one.

Youngjae shouts a hurried reassurance that he’ll be out soon. The balm now finished, he stows the tin at the back of the cupboard of toiletries and flushes the parachute fabric down the toilet. He checks that Junhong’s controller and the six remaining ration packs are still safely in the pocket of the first bathrobe on the pegs behind the door before pulling it on. Immediately after he unlocks the door and shuffles past an irritated Jongup, the door clicks shut behind him as Jongup rushes in. The shower is turned back on before Youngjae makes out the faint sound of Jongup unbuckling his belt. It clinks as it falls to the floor, but a few seconds later, there’s a strangely loud thud as one of his pieces of clothing joins it.

Refusing to go upstairs by himself to look for any dry clothes, Youngjae drapes his damp ones across the foot of the bannister, leans his axe against it, tightens the belt around the robe, and peers into the kitchen. Daehyun is sitting on the edge of the counter with his back hunched over, swinging his legs dejectedly. He must have washed his face and head in the kitchen sink – his hair hangs across his forehead in soft clumps – but his clothes are still dirty. He brightens up when he sees Youngjae at the door, though.

“Do you need me to help with any plasters or bandages?” he asks.

Youngjae shakes his head quickly. “I’m not bleeding anymore.” He frowns: Daehyun has gone back to kicking his legs about with a vacant expression instead of bombarding Youngjae with questions. “Have you eaten?”

“Nope,” Daehyun says, his lips making a popping sound on the ‘p’.

“Have you just been sitting here for an hour?”

Bracing himself with his hands gripping the edge of the countertop, Daehyun leans forward and lowers his voice, as if he’s about to spill a secret. “Things are starting to make more sense now.” There’s a disconcerting spark in his eye.

Youngjae shuffles uncomfortably, tugging on the collar of his robe to cover more of his throat. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s in the name, I suppose,” Daehyun continues. “The _Hunger_ Games.” His eyes finally focus on Youngjae’s. “Youngjae, they’re going to starve us.”

“What?”

“This city was abandoned over ten years ago. There’s nothing edible left. I went with Yongguk to look at some other houses while you were in the shower, and they’re all the same. Even the canned stuff expired years ago. Then the cliff… collapsed. The one opposite the mountain. Well what’s left of it, of both of them, really.”

“It collapsed? How? Why?” Youngjae asks confusedly.

Daehyun shrugs. “I don’t know. One minute it was there, and the next, it wasn’t. The cannon went off twice. I wondered if it was something like what happened to the mountain. But there weren’t any explosions or fire… Yongguk reckons there must have been a food source there somewhere. A field or a forest or a river or _something_. But now that whole side of the arena is dust and smoke too. There’s no way of getting fresh food anymore. The forest is completely burnt, and there must be all kinds of shit in that river now. There are barely any plants in the city, and I’ve not seen a single animal in it apart from small bugs, and that was only right at the start. I mean I guess if it really came to it…”

Youngjae’s head tilts to a side slightly in thought. “It’s like they’re pushing us away from the edge, back to the middle of the arena. They want us to fight. It’s not interesting enough for them right now.”

Daehyun frowns at him. He opens his mouth, probably to tell Youngjae he’s missing the point, but Youngjae beats him to it.

“And why is that a problem anyway? You still have some food in the rucksack, don’t you?”

“Only enough for a day or two,” Daehyun retorts.

“The three of you could just ask for food, and your sponsors would team up and send you enough to last you a month.”

“You think we haven’t tried? And why aren’t you including yourself in this?”

Youngjae stares at him. “You have more supporters. And probably because there’s still some food. Maybe when it runs out and we actually get desperate –”

“No, you’re right. They want us to fight. They’ll use this to do it. They’ll make us all hungry, then invite us to a _feast_ ,” he says with a bitter smile.

The more Youngjae thinks about what Daehyun’s said, the more plausible it seems. There aren’t many tributes left, and feasts aren’t uncommon at this stage, where the remaining tributes are offered something they each desperately need at the Cornucopia. The Gamemakers must be enjoying their little joke. “I have some ration packs,” he says quietly.

Daehyun looks puzzled.

Youngjae quickly pulls one out of his pocket and shows Daehyun before he can think too much and regret telling him about them.

It turns out Daehyun has never seen one before. “I was wondering what you had in there,” he says quietly, nodding towards Youngjae’s pocket.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. If Daehyun had just asked him about it, Youngjae might have panicked, thinking he knew about Junhong’s controller. “I have six. It could keep us going for another day, I think.”

“Do the others know?”

“No. I never really had a reason to mention it.”

“Well, thank you for telling me,” Daehyun murmurs, pushing the ration pack in Youngjae’s hand back towards his pocket, “but let’s keep it quiet.” He glances at the doorway. “We’ll need something to fall back on when we split up, right? It’ll last longer with just the two of us.”

“Just the two of us?” Youngjae repeats with a smug smile. He wonders what made Daehyun agree.

Daehyun looks at him fully even though his cheeks are flushed. “Your eyes are red,” he comments bluntly, as if trying to embarrass Youngjae back.

Youngjae tries to scowl. He’s too pleased about Daehyun’s decision to really be annoyed, but he feels oddly exposed, receiving Daehyun’s complete attention whilst in nothing but a flimsy bathrobe that barely passes his knees. Daehyun arches an eyebrow, but there’s concern in his expression too. When Yongguk calls from the living room, asking someone to tell Jongup to hurry up, Youngjae all but dashes out of the kitchen.

Jongup doesn’t respond when Youngjae knocks on the bathroom door and delivers Yongguk’s message, so he turns the knob in a warning fashion, but to his surprise, the door opens. Trust Jongup to not lock it. His clothes are scattered across the floor. Quickly, Youngjae scans them for anything that could make a thud when dropped, but they’re just the same clothes as his. Then, a familiar-shaped lump in an inside pocket of his jacket catches his eye. A controller.

Either Yongguk was lying when he said they didn’t have any – that wouldn’t be his first lie – or Jongup is keeping this a secret from the others. Something tells Youngjae that the second is more likely.

“Yongguk says can you hurry up,” Youngjae repeats loudly. He closes the door and leaves when Jongup mumbles a reply.

His clothes are no longer on the bannister. Confused, he picks his axe up, walks past the kitchen and enters the living room instead. Yongguk is sitting back on a sofa with his sword lying across his lap, eyes closed. The blood smear is gone now. Youngjae looks away quickly, and realises they’re not alone. Daehyun is kneeling by the fireplace, arranging Youngjae’s clothes around it. When he’s done he makes to get up, but then spots Youngjae and beams.

Youngjae finds himself joining Daehyun by the fire, even though the air is too warm for his liking.

 

* * *

  

On the third day of training, tributes were called out one by one during lunch for their private sessions with the Gamemakers, to show off what they were capable of, and have their score out of twelve announced to the country in the evening. Youngjae was sitting with the Careers again after another morning glued at the hip with Daehyun, and a meal with slightly fewer distrustful looks from the other Careers. As each tribute left the table, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit more. Then Junhong’s name was called.

Youngjae’s head jerked up. Junhong seemed to have gathered his thoughts and emotions together overnight, or maybe he was simply over the surprise of yesterday. His stride had slightly more confidence, though he still walked with his eyes on the ground. Or maybe that was how he always walked. How long had Youngjae known him, really?

As he passed the Career table, Youngjae cleared his throat in preparation, before murmuring “Good luck”.

Junhong looked at him but didn’t respond, and continued to the door with more haste in his step.

Daehyun watched the exchange with great interest, but didn’t comment on it. They sat in silence until it was Daehyun’s turn. He rose to his feet slowly, wringing his hands, waiting to see if Youngjae would say something to him too.

He did. He wished Daehyun good luck too, only in a clearer voice, and decorated with hurried words of advice and a smile that brushed aside Daehyun’s nervousness.

After the girl from District 4 left too, Youngjae was left at the table alone, and fully aware of the glares he was receiving. He retied his laces for a lack of anything else to do, and then went over Himchan’s instructions in his head one last time, before his name was finally called out. Red Hair watched him as he walked to where a door was being held open.

The Gamemakers were seated on a balcony looking down on the room. They observed passively as Youngjae first hacked a dummy to pieces with an axe, then threw knives and spears, tied Daehyun’s knot, and finished off by sprinting from one end of the room to another and climbing up a model tree. He didn’t seem to make a particularly strong impression on them, but when they dismissed him, they were discussing their notes on his performance: he would get the score that he deserved.

Once he had reached the relative comfort of District 7’s floor of the Training Centre, Himchan met him in the corridor.

“How did it go?” he asked, intently searching Youngjae’s face for the answer to his question.

“Well, I did everything I could. It went as well as it could have.”

Himchan seemed to deflate in relief. He clapped Youngjae’s shoulder slightly harder than necessary, and gave it a rough squeeze. “I’m proud of you.”

Touched, Youngjae patted Himchan’s hand. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help. As unwelcome as it was,” he finished with a grin.

“Don’t go thanking me yet,” Himchan said with a good-natured smile. The brightness of his teeth was distracting. “You don’t even know your score yet. Maybe they thought you were rubbish. Save your proclamations of eternal thanks when you actually have a solid reason to be thankful.”

Shaking his head at Himchan’s quick mood changes, Youngjae left his mentor in the corridor and went to rest in his room, feeling fairly optimistic.

When Youngjae joined Himchan and Red Hair in the sitting room after dinner to watch the announcement of the tribute scores, their escort, stylists and prep team were also spread across the large room, eyes on the screen. Jongup’s face was the first to appear, and underneath it, the number ten. Unsurprisingly, Yongguk got an eleven; if anybody was going to get a score that high, it would be him. The female tribute from District 2 also had a ten written under her photograph.

Youngjae tensed when Junhong’s face looked down at him from the screen, then his jaw dropped when the number nine glared at him from underneath it.

“I thought you said he was mediocre?” said Himchan.

“Yeah, I did,” said Youngjae. “He was.”

He didn’t know what Junhong could have possibly shown the Gamemakers that impressed them so much, but one thing was certain: Youngjae had misjudged him. He couldn’t believe it. Himchan was right: Junhong hadn’t shown everything there was to him. He had kept a trick or two hidden up his sleeve.

Daehyun also pulled a nine. The idea that the Gamemakers thought they both deserved the same score was laughable, really: Daehyun was superior to Junhong in every physical skill, as well as in knowledge of nature and how to survive. The only advantage Junhong had over Daehyun was perhaps his height, or his wit. Or something else that he had never told Youngjae about.

He didn’t understand why he felt so betrayed. They had only spoken for one day, and Youngjae hadn’t shown him everything that he could do, so why should Junhong? Yet there was something about Junhong, something innocent, that had made Youngjae genuinely like him: made him not want to be allies, but be friends. He had been surprised at how quickly Junhong had seemed to put all his trust into him, but it seemed that Youngjae was equally foolish, if not more, for thinking that he was the only one who could keep secrets or deceive others.

Himchan’s voice pulled Youngjae out of his thoughts. “Eight, Youngjae!”

Youngjae looked up and caught his picture and score for a couple of seconds before it vanished, to be replaced by Red Hair, and her own five. At least _she_ wasn’t hiding anything. He congratulated her, and she responded with a stiff “You too”. Eight! Not bad, not bad at all. The girl from District 4 also had an eight, so he had done as well as another Career Tribute! Surely with enough pressure from Daehyun, the Careers would let him tag along for a bit in the arena. Some rich people from the Capitol might even want to sponsor him, if he was interesting enough in his interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Junhong had actually done better than he had. Youngjae felt his face heat up when he remembered how sweet he had been to Junhong, thinking that the kid needed him to survive, and Youngjae had even tried to stick up for him in front of Himchan!

The rest of the tributes averaged at a five or six, with a few below, and some above. Both tributes from 10 also got an eight, and his stylist told him the female tribute from 6 had a nine. Feeling fairly confident about his success so far, Youngjae thanked Himchan heartily for his help. He didn’t mention Junhong, but Himchan gave him an understanding look. To think he’d almost thrown away his chance at being with a group of strong tributes to protect a shy kid, only to be probably stabbed in the back later for his kindness!

It occurred to him that night as he lay in bed, once his initial surprise and anger had simmered down, that feeling so played was quite hypocritical.

Wasn’t Youngjae planning the same thing for the Careers?

 

* * *

  

Yongguk shakes him awake at night during the anthem to pass over the watch. Youngjae leans back against his sofa and pulls back the curtain to get a glimpse of Junhong’s face fading out in the sky, only to be replaced a second later by the male tribute from District 8 and then the female from 9. They must have been the ones who died because of the cliff. When it finishes, Yongguk gives Youngjae a long look, then leaves the other window to lie down on the sofa on the opposite end of the room.

The room is lit only by the fire. Youngjae peers around it, slightly dazed from sleep: he must have fallen asleep some time during the day, and been left alone. He remembers changing back into his clothes once they were dry, and then being bored and sleepy when Daehyun left to shower. The thought of the other three being awake for hours and trying not to disturb Youngjae’s sleep makes him feel strange: they must have genuinely tried, because Youngjae is a light sleeper. Daehyun, he can understand, but the other two? It’s not even been a day since Yongguk killed Junhong in front of Youngjae’s eyes and pretended not to know about it, and since Youngjae discovered Jongup’s controller. Does Daehyun have anything that he’s hiding too?

That’s an even more uncomfortable idea: ever since Youngjae has been allowed into the Career circle, Daehyun has been nothing but kind and welcoming. Much more than necessary, really, but Youngjae isn’t complaining. He watches the slow rise and fall of Daehyun’s chest and shoulders as he sits curled up in an armchair. His clothes are clean now, and he looks vulnerable in sleep with his soft hair and his arms wrapped around his folded legs. Why is he now agreeing to stay together until the end, when he seemed so cautious after Youngjae first brought it up? Has something happened between him and the others? He’s still a Career Tribute, Youngjae reminds himself. He should be capable of lying and using other tributes to save himself. And he fought at the bloodbath: killing isn’t beyond him.

But he said he wouldn’t kill Youngjae. It’s so stupid, but he wants to believe Daehyun. There’s a warmth in Youngjae’s fingertips. He tries not to think about whether he was telling the truth or not when he said he wouldn’t be able to kill Daehyun either. His eyes move from Daehyun to where Jongup is asleep on his back on the rug in the middle of the room. Even after Yongguk’s snores join the others’, Youngjae waits a while longer before getting up.

Jongup’s taken a circular embroidered cushion to use as a pillow, and is using his jacket as a blanket, even though someone has put a pile of blankets by the wall. Youngjae moves closer until he is kneeling beside Jongup’s left arm. His heart hammers in his chest; if Jongup wakes up now, scraping his way out of this won’t be easy. His hand flits across Jongup’s jacket, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric in their search for something hard.

Jongup’s breath hitches. Immediately, Youngjae pulls back.

A few moments later, Jongup burrows deeper under the jacket before his breathing slowly evens out again. Youngjae stays as still as he can until even the softness of the rug can’t stop his knees from hurting. That was close. Carefully, he shifts to his side, then crawls back to Jongup. After several more tries, he slips his hand under the warmth of the jacket and he finds what he’s looking for. The slow crunch of the zip is agonising, but he can’t risk undoing it quickly. He holds the controller and slowly pulls it out, then steals back to his sofa before opening the lid and looking at it properly. The weather controller.

Youngjae could laugh, it’s so ridiculous. The cause of so much suffering, right under his nose all this time. Then anger surges through him: Jongup and his controller were the reason he hid inside that tree and trembled all night, so ill and weak and helpless, and terrified at how vulnerable he was against the tributes from 10 and 5. Jongup was being so obvious, Youngjae realises: the Careers were never badly affected by the weather while most other tributes were. But then again, they might have brushed it off with their Career arrogance, thinking that it was because of their supplies and intelligence, rather than because the person who controlled the weather was one of them. Youngjae can’t decide if Jongup is a genius or an idiot.

Another thought comes to him: if it wasn’t for the hailstorm, he might not have had the chance to apologise to Junhong. And if it hadn’t been raining on the second night, he might not have been concealed from 10 and 5 inside the tree trunk. And the fire from the mountain and forest might have spread to the city if Jongup hadn’t made it rain again.

Suppressing his anger, Youngjae glances down at the controller. It’s had its positives and its negatives, but now it has to help him think of what to do. Rain, snow, wind, lightning… even pressing all twelve buttons at once wouldn’t do as much damage as he would like.

He pulls out his own controller – _Junhong’s_ controller, he reminds himself – and looks for any similarities. Hurricane is a much stronger form of wind, he supposes, and flood could be linked to rain. He finds himself wondering what Junhong would think if he knew what Youngjae was trying to do. Or Daehyun. Would Daehyun be angry at Youngjae for hiding Junhong’s controller from him, or disappointed? Youngjae doesn’t know what’s worse, but the unpleasant churning in his chest tells him he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to see Daehyun like that because of him. Doesn’t even want to think about what Daehyun will think if Youngjae manages to pull this off and Daehyun finds out it was him.

A voice that sounds like Himchan’s tells him to stop being an idiot and to get on with it. Push his emotions to the back, like he’s been doing all his life. The bottle cap has been slightly unscrewed ever since his name was called out at the reaping, but now is the time to tighten it again, and keep the contents from pouring out. He can smash the glass against the side of his new house in Victors’ Village all he likes when he’s back in District 7, and let his blood mix with the liquid that was inside it. Even if his parents don’t care or understand, _Himchan_ will; Himchan will bandage his hands, wrap him in a blanket and teach him how to keep the glass intact next time. After all, he’s been doing it himself for ten years.

In spite of his racing thoughts, a weariness comes over him. His limbs feel heavy and his eyes sting. He can’t sleep now: he’s supposed to be on watch.

He pockets his own controller, and gets to his feet to put Jongup’s back, when he hears it.

The scratching sound at the living room door.

Youngjae sucks in a sharp breath. Fuck, not again. He doesn't even know if it's locked this time. He freezes momentarily, before grabbing his axe. He needs to get rid of Jongup’s controller first, otherwise it’ll have all been for nothing.

Gritting his teeth against the sniffing and panting that’s joined the scraping outside, Youngjae leans over Jongup and slides the controller into the inside pocket. He doesn’t have the luxury of taking his time with the zip now: he pulls it in one move.

The door trembles as the mutt thrusts its weight against it.

Youngjae gasps involuntarily, and the corner of the jacket falls from his hands, making a soft thump as the covered controller lands on the rug. When he looks down, he’s met with Jongup’s open eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

“ _Jongup_ ,” Youngjae mouths. He shifts away from Jongup’s jacket as subtly as he can.

Jongup frowns, eyes struggling to focus.

Another fearful glance at the door gives him an idea. “Get up!” he hisses. “Quick! And quietly – we have to be quiet.” He holds the collar of Jongup’s shirt and shakes him sharply, then rushes up to wake the others, leaving a confused Jongup to sit up on the rug and blink slowly.

Daehyun and Yongguk catch on quicker: the door shudders again. They gather up their belongings, then push the window open and climb out, Youngjae and Jongup following after. Yongguk leads them as they tear down the dim streets, their feet slapping loudly against the concrete. They aren’t being followed, but they don’t stop until the streetlamps are no longer flickering, and walls of the buildings are less cracked, and the paint less chipped.

“We must be getting closer to the Cornucopia,” Yongguk says, panting, before turning to Youngjae. “What the _fuck_ was that?” Even he looks shaken.

“I told you,” Youngjae replies quietly, “there were mutts when I stayed in a house on the first night. It was bound to happen again. I knew something was wrong when I suddenly felt tired.”

“ _We_ never had a problem,” Yongguk shoots back. “It must have been you who triggered it again. On purpose or by accident.”

“ _What?_ ” Youngjae says incredulously. His head is screaming at him to take a step back and lower his head, but he stays as he is.

“What was it you said might have done it, Daehyun?” Yongguk continues, smirking humorlessly. “Fear?”

“I wasn’t scared.” Youngjae’s tone is defiant. “All I did was think. If that’s the only difference between me and you, then that’s not my problem.”

Daehyun’s hand rests on Youngjae’s shoulder and squeezes it tightly in warning. Youngjae lets it stay there, but he doesn’t look away from Yongguk.

“Was it just strong emotions, then?” Daehyun suggests quickly. “Is there anything in common with your thoughts or emotions tonight and the time before?”

Youngjae was awake when the mutts came the first time, but most of the triggering must have been done by Junhong, because Youngjae was too sleepy and confused to feel much. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or lots of different thoughts and emotions in a short amount of time.”

Daehyun sighs. “So we just have to… not think and feel too much then, I suppose. Then we should be fine.”

Yongguk scoffs. “We’re staying at the Cornucopia from now on, anyway, until a feast, or a fight, or whatever. I’m not cowering away in a building when I’ll be safer out in the open, if District 7 is going to get fucking weak and sappy all the time.”

Youngjae grits his teeth and mumbles an apology: this has gone too far. He then takes the rucksack from Daehyun, and walks behind Yongguk quietly as they start moving again. Daehyun slides into step beside him and tries to talk to him, but Youngjae forces himself to respond with curt one-word answers. He’s been too close with and dependent on Daehyun; with Yongguk acting like this, having Daehyun be Youngjae’s only ticket to stay in the Career circle isn’t enough to guarantee his safety until they split up. He also needs to make sure Jongup doesn’t have any doubts about why he woke to find Youngjae hanging over him.

He takes bigger steps to catch up with Jongup. The boy is definitely not apathetic towards Youngjae anymore, if his genuine relief at finding Youngjae alive after the earthbreak is anything to go by, but he’s far from acting anything like Daehyun. He’d be a useful and hopefully willing ally against Yongguk too, if it came to the worst. So Youngjae presses him into conversation, and is met by much more enthusiasm than he was in training. By the time they reach the city centre an hour or so later, he has Jongup clutching onto his elbow to hold himself up because he’s laughing so hard at Youngjae’s antics.

There’s something ridiculously pure about hearing Jongup’s actual laugh, because he’s the type to only smile or laugh silently, and when they pass under a streetlamp, Youngjae proudly admires the rosy glow that he’s brushed onto Jongup’s cheeks. Cheeks. Junhong’s cheeks, tinged with pink in glee. Youngjae bites on his lower lip. What is he doing? He looks around for Daehyun, and finds him trailing behind them instead of at the front with Yongguk. Daehyun doesn’t look up at all, so Youngjae turns forward again, and lets Jongup do the rest of the talking.

Yongguk stiffens up when the Cornucopia comes into sight. It’s well lit, with ground lights focused on it too from where the tributes’ starting discs used to be, but the streets beyond the square are still draped in shadows. He orders them to get their weapons ready – who is he to order them all about? Youngjae thinks bitterly – and they follow, but there’s no need. The Cornucopia is devoid of tributes, supplies and food. Youngjae pushes down his complaint about the pointlessness of this whole stupid journey, because he shouldn’t be the one to say anything bad about Yongguk at this point, not with this much tension between them. Daehyun and Jongup don’t say anything either: Daehyun sits on the ground with his back against the golden horn, and Jongup joins him. Youngjae waits until Yongguk finally deems it safe enough to sit before he crouches beside them too.

“So who’s left again?” Daehyun asks. “There’s ten of us, right? We make up four, and then…”

“One tribute each from District 3, 5, 6 and 8,” says Yongguk. “And the two from 10.”

“And the two from 10,” Daehyun repeats softly.

“Don’t you think it’d be too early for a feast, then?” Jongup says timidly. “There’s still so many of us.”

Yongguk turns to look at him slowly. “Do you have a better plan?”

Jongup hastily shakes his head. Youngjae’s attention has boosted his confidence, but it’s easy enough for him to withdraw back into the usual way he acts in the Career circle: comfortable and vocal enough, but only as long as he knows he’s got the backing of the others. Anything to avoid conflict.

“We should go back to sleep while it’s still dark,” Daehyun says. “There’s nothing else to do now anyway.”

Yongguk agrees, and wrapping a blanket that he’d grabbed on his way out of the house around himself, lies back and closes his eyes. “District 7, it’s still your watch until the morning.”

Youngjae makes a sound of agreement, and sits in a more comfortable position as Daehyun and Jongup find a place to lie down too. He can’t remember how Yongguk used to address him before: did he use his name, or did he just get around it without having to? But this ‘District 7’ isn’t good. The longer it takes Youngjae to act, the more time this animosity will have to escalate. He needs to keep it up with Jongup.

As the night grows older, Youngjae draws his knees up and rests his chin on top. He’s surrounded by soft snores again, but it’s lonely out in the open. Daehyun hasn’t fallen asleep yet: he’s been fidgeting and turning about, but surprisingly, hasn’t given up and come to Youngjae to talk. Now that he’s thinking about it, Youngjae doesn’t remember Daehyun talking to him at all after he’d started speaking to Jongup. That’s almost two hours without Daehyun’s insistent voice aimed at him, and more since they’d last spoken in private, and for some reason, Youngjae feels like something is missing.

“Dae,” he whispers, before he can dwell on why.

Daehyun’s eyes spring open, but he doesn’t move or respond.

Silently, Youngjae shuffles over towards Daehyun and reaches for his shoulder poking out from under the thin blanket. Daehyun had given Jongup the thicker one, and Youngjae doesn’t have one at all. Even though his own hands are cold, Youngjae can tell Daehyun isn’t doing much better. Daehyun closes his eyes, but he trembles under Youngjae’s touch.

“I know you’re awake.”

After a unnerving pause, Daehyun exhales deeply. “What do you want?” he whispers back, eyes still closed.

Youngjae recoils.

Daehyun’s tone isn’t harsh – more guarded, really – but Youngjae doesn’t know what to do. Daehyun is always the one stepping forward and reaching out, and all Youngjae has to do is let him. He doesn’t know how to deal with a Daehyun who won’t even look at him.

“Nothing. Sorry, I’ll just –” he mumbles, cutting himself off before he makes a fool of himself, and moves back to his watch position.

He tries to convince himself that Daehyun’s just tired and irritable right now, nothing more, but he can’t get the wariness in Daehyun’s voice out of his mind. Has he somehow managed to put a wall between himself and Daehyun too? He thinks back over the last couple of hours to remember if he said or did something wrong; Daehyun can’t be that bothered by Youngjae talking to Jongup instead of him for a bit, surely. There must be something else. But why does it even matter? He knows he’s overthinking it, but there’s a tightness inside him.

Something moves to his left, and then Daehyun is beside him, telling him to scoot over, and Youngjae grins in relief. Daehyun’s cold fingers press lightly against Youngjae’s cold cheek, and then throw half a blanket over him. Youngjae burrows deeper into Daehyun’s side and wraps the blanket around the two of them tighter, but Daehyun is still.

“Is this what you wanted?” Daehyun says in a soft voice. “You were just cold?” He stares ahead.

“What? _No_.” Youngjae frowns. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Daehyun blinks rapidly as if in thought. “Why?”

Youngjae shrugs, and their shoulders are pressed so firmly together that Daehyun’s shoulder goes up with his. “You couldn’t sleep anyway, and we hadn’t spoken in a while. Is everything… ok?”

Daehyun finally looks at him, confused. “Yes?”

“Why are you acting weird, then?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am _not_.”

“How old are you?” Youngjae says impatiently. “Five?”

“I wish I was. Then I wouldn’t be here.”

Youngjae stares at him in shock. The Capitol will have to edit that out. “Is that why you’re being like this?”

“Forget it,” Daehyun snaps. “I’m just tired.”

“Yes, I could tell by how well you were sleeping,” Youngjae comments dryly.

Daehyun opens his mouth to argue back, but closes it without a word and looks forward again. Youngjae doesn’t understand how or why this is happening, but he can’t have Daehyun turn against him. His arm curls around Daehyun’s side and he pulls on his shoulder, so that Daehyun’s head rests in the nook between Youngjae’s neck and collarbone, and his shoulder leans back against Youngjae’s.

“Relax then, you’re so tense,” Youngjae murmurs in his ear. “Go to sleep.” Daehyun’s always been weak against affection.

“And you say _I’m_ being weird,” Daehyun says.

He doesn’t resist, but the caution in his voice is still there. It’s a little endearing, if Youngjae is honest with himself for once; if he didn’t know better, he’d say Daehyun was nervous. But that’s not it.

“Relax,” Youngjae says again. His hands meet on Daehyun’s stomach, and he squeezes gently through Daehyun’s shirt and jacket.

Gradually, the stiffness begins to leave Daehyun’s body, until he is resting limply in Youngjae’s arms, but his eyes are still open. “Have you killed anyone yet?”

Surprised, Youngjae sits a little straighter so that Daehyun’s ear isn’t pressed against the pulse in his throat so much, but Daehyun snuggles even closer. “No.”

He wonders if Junhong’s death could be seen as Youngjae’s kill. Junhong wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for Youngjae. _No_ , he tells himself. Junhong’s blood is on Yongguk’s hands. However much of it dripped onto Youngjae’s can be washed away. Washed away with Yongguk’s blood.

“You strike me as the kind of person who could kill easily,” Daehyun says in a small voice.

“Well, I haven’t. And you _don’t_ strike me as the kind of person who could kill easily.”

Daehyun frowns. “I’ve already killed.”

“I know,” Youngjae says, “but you had to protect yourself.”

“You’d kill to protect yourself too, though, right?”

Daehyun lifts his head and turns to look at him, leaving Youngjae’s neck feeling cold. There’s a touch of vulnerability in Daehyun’s expression that makes Youngjae want to move away in shame so as not to taint Daehyun’s innocent thoughts, but also want to hold him even closer and shield him from the reality of the Games. While Youngjae has been scheming, Daehyun has been struggling to keep the guilt from doing what he had to do to survive at bay.

“I suppose.” They’re too close, Youngjae thinks. Their breaths visibly mingle in the air between them.

Daehyun holds Youngjae’s gaze. “What were you thinking about? Before the mutts.”

“I don’t know, a lot of things,” Youngjae says, but Daehyun isn’t satisfied with his vague answer. He sighs. “I was saying goodbye. To Junhong.”

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

Youngjae wets his lips. “What?”

Daehyun smiles. “Did you really think I believed you when you said you only let him tag along?”

 _Oh_. “When I first said it, maybe. Not after that though. Definitely not after the interviews.”

“So why did you do it? Lie? It was obvious you liked the kid.”

“That’s why, I guess. I didn’t want to get too close to him. I knew this would happen.”

“But you didn’t mind getting close to me?” Daehyun retorts, before composing himself. “To us?”

“You’re – different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Youngjae breathes in slowly. “But I suppose it must show something, if I could let him go even though it hurt him, but I asked you to stay with me... I hadn’t even thought about it before I said it. I was as surprised as you were, but I realised I must have wanted it subconsciously; once I’d said it, I knew I meant it.” He’s not lying, not this time.

Youngjae wonders what the audience is making of this: this isn’t exactly the kind of conversation tributes have in the Games. Daehyun doesn’t say anything, thinking it over.

“You should sleep,” Youngjae says finally, swallowing his disappointment.

 

* * *

 

Youngjae found himself not really listening to Himchan and Red Hair’s conversation at breakfast the next morning as he stirred extra sugar into his coffee. Maybe the shock of Junhong’s score yesterday had made Youngjae overreact slightly. A high score or hiding his skill didn’t necessarily mean he had lied to Youngjae. Maybe he really hadn’t trusted Youngjae enough yet – why should he? – or didn’t want to show him in front of all the other tributes, or there just wasn’t good reason to. And now Youngjae joining the Career crowd had probably destroyed any trust that Junhong had had in him.

Himchan cleared his throat. Red Hair had just left the dining room with their Capitol escort to be coached on how to present herself at the interviews tomorrow. Youngjae was to practise answering questions with Himchan, until he was to swap with Red Hair after lunch.

“So,” Himchan began once they had taken a seat in the living room, “how are you going to play it now?”

Youngjae considered Himchan for a moment. He was ten years older than himself, strikingly handsome, and highly experienced as both somebody who had won the games, and one who had mentored the tributes from District 7 for the last decade. And yet despite his previous advice being helpful, and his warnings correct, here he was asking Youngjae what he planned on doing, rather than directing him.

“Shouldn’t you just be telling me how to act?”

“Would you listen to me if I did?” Himchan asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Face warm, Youngjae bowed his head. “Yeah.”

Himchan sat back and smirked, apparently pleased with himself. “Much better.”

Youngjae scoffed.

“I want you to try being cheery and witty. I know you have the wit, but how about we try to use it to make people laugh, rather than insulting them?”

Youngjae slapped his hand on his chest in mock offence. “When have I ever insulted you?”

“Well not to my face, you haven’t. Don’t think I don’t hear you muttering swear words at me in the corridor after we have an argument. Anyway, whatever: what I’m saying is, use your words to please the audience and make them like you. It’s the Capitol you need to impress now, not the Careers.”

Himchan spent the next few hours asking Youngjae mock interview questions about his life back home, and Youngjae answered with increasing levels of enthusiasm. It soon became clear that although Youngjae didn’t have a particularly interesting life, the lively way he explained it, and the dry jokes sprinkled here and there, were what made his answers entertaining. Such frequent sight of Himchan’s usually rare smile was highly encouraging – having Himchan be happy with him for once was nice. By noon, Himchan seemed satisfied enough to end the session early.

“I think you’ve got the hang of it. Go eat your lunch now, if you want. You’ve deserved a good break.”

Youngjae was tempted to, but curiosity got the better of him; he could put hunger to a side for now, while Himchan was in such a good mood. “How did you act in _your_ interview?”

Himchan sat up straighter. “Similar to you.”

“Are you using your own tactics for me as well, then?” Youngjae asked. “All this trying to find strong allies and get good sponsors. Is that how you acted before your Games, too?”

Himchan waited for a moment before replying. “I guess.”

Youngjae watched him carefully, but Himchan refused to look back at him. “Did it work? How did you win?”

Something in Himchan seemed to snap, and he rose to his full height. “I think you should go eat now,” he said coldly.

 _Well done, idiot,_ Youngjae thought as he hurried out of the room. He’d pushed Himchan too far. He was so obviously uncomfortable – why had Youngjae asked him such a personal question? – and now he’d angered his mentor, a day before the interviews, and not even two days before the beginning of the Games.

He sat at the table and wolfed down as much as he could before feeling sick, and left the dining room quickly before Red Hair and their district’s escort could join him. He spent the lunch break lying on his bed, wondering how many more people he could disappoint or irritate before he was thrown into the arena.

The afternoon was spent in his room too. Their blue-haired escort had knocked on his door an hour later. Despite his sour mood, his easy smiles and confident walk seemed to please her. At least he didn’t need to add _her_ to the list too.

Early the next day, Youngjae’s prep team began their gruelling task of making him look unrealistically perfect. The potion they smeared on the lower half of his face to prevent facial hair growing while he was in the arena stung extremely, as though all of his non-existent hairs were being continuously yanked out. Fortunately, most of the rest of his body hair was left as it was, but then began the harsh scrubbing down of his body. He didn’t think he’d ever been this clean in his life, nor did he ever want to be again. By the time they were finished, his skin was an angry shade of pink – time for more lotions. Then there was the make-up and hair styling: Youngjae would be bored, but the nervousness at the prospect of the interviews that evening had begun to gnaw at him.

When his prep team finally left him with wishes for good luck, his appearance was flawless; he looked as though he had never worked a day in his life. His stylist was an irritatingly loud woman, who had lost interest in her job after so many years of it. Only her voice gave away how old she was: she had exchanged wrinkles for purple ink that spread even to her face. For all her years of experience, however, she did not seem to think Youngjae needed to wear anything too flattering. She dressed him in a brown suit with black lines running up it, resembling grooves in bark, and an emerald green tie. His shirt underneath was a soft cream colour, covered in age ring patterns of pale brown. Ugh. At least in the arena she didn’t have the power to dress him like a fucking tree again. She added some final touches to his make-up – nothing too drastic, thankfully – all the while prattling on about her _fascinating_ life, before letting him leave.

With a half-hearted expression of thanks, Youngjae went back into the living room. The escort, prep teams and the other stylist were chattering gleefully, but Himchan and Red Hair were silent. They looked up on his arrival, and then stood up, ready to go down to the Interview Stage. Youngjae’s stylist came bustling in after him, and led the way to the elevators. Youngjae itched to chew his bottom lip as he stepped in behind her, as the anxiety about the interview began again.

 

* * *

 

As the sun makes a weak appearance over the top of the hills to his left, Youngjae slips out from inside the blanket. He immediately regrets the loss of Daehyun’s warmth, but secures the blanket around Daehyun tighter, and goes to wake Jongup before facing Yongguk. When Yongguk scowls at Daehyun’s sleeping figure still slumped against the side of the Cornucopia, Youngjae explains that he’d barely slept.

“Unless we’re doing something important, it won’t hurt to let him sleep a bit more. Then he can be on first watch tonight.”

Jongup shrugs in indifferent agreement. Though Yongguk doesn’t say anything, Youngjae doesn’t miss the way his eyes shift from Youngjae to Jongup, then back again.

They don’t do anything productive that day. It’s only the fifth day in the arena, Youngjae realises. It feels like he’s been here for weeks. They try to eat as little as possible, but between the four of them, what’s left of the food the Careers had taken from the Cornucopia can only last so long. Daehyun empties the rucksack on the ground in the afternoon, and announces that they only have enough for a very light breakfast the next day, and then that’s it.

Youngjae hasn’t had the chance to talk privately with Daehyun all day. He’s kept the conversation flowing between the Careers, gaining Jongup’s admiration, Daehyun’s polite smile, and Yongguk’s suspicion, but as the day goes by, Youngjae grows nervous. There’s no sign of any future feast, and the arena around them is still and silent. Daehyun hasn’t tried to approach him at all.

After nightfall, Yongguk tells Youngjae to go patrol the streets with him, to see if they can find any other tributes under the cover of darkness.

“Sure,” Youngjae replies without looking at him. “C’mon Jongup.”

“No,” Yongguk says slowly, “Jongup should stay here.” He turns to Daehyun. “We shouldn’t leave you here by yourself.”

Daehyun’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about me. There’s no point going out to hunt with only two of you.”

“And there’s no point keeping camp if you’re by yourself. Jongup stays.”

The decisive authority in Yongguk’s voice stops Daehyun from verbally insisting, but he licks his lips like there’s still something he wants to say. He looks at Youngjae properly for the first time all day, but for some stupid reason, Youngjae lowers his gaze uncomfortably. He doesn’t understand why Daehyun is so against it: there’s tension with Yongguk, obviously, but it’s not like Daehyun saw what Youngjae saw. He doesn’t know that Yongguk was willing to abandon Youngjae to his death before, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to actively give it to him this time.

Youngjae doesn’t know what to do either. He doesn’t know what Yongguk has planned, but he’s not safe. There’s no ordinary reason why he’d specifically want only Youngjae. Nervously pushing his fear to the back of his mind, he smiles and swings his axe nonchalantly. “See you two later,” he says over his shoulder to Daehyun and Jongup, and walks side by side with Yongguk away from the Cornucopia.

The street lights seem dimmer than usual, and the gap between each, wider. Several times Yongguk speeds up his pace or slows down, but Youngjae determinedly maintains his position at Yongguk’s side. They aren’t talking anymore after Yongguk growled at him to shut up, annoyed with Youngjae’s persistent babble; anything would be better than silence, but Yongguk needs exactly that to find an unsuspecting tribute to kill.

After three hours of walking and nothing to show for it, though, Youngjae can no longer ignore the unease he feels every time Yongguk makes a sudden movement. Surely if Yongguk wanted to use this opportunity to get rid of Youngjae, he would have done it by now: they’re growing closer to the city centre again with every step, but Yongguk hasn’t said or done anything to Youngjae at all. His hand clenches tighter around the handle of his axe, partly to prepare himself just in case, and partly to ground him, keep him stable and calm.

“Are we still carrying on?” Youngjae asks tentatively.

Yongguk shrugs. “This is enough for tonight. I didn’t expect to find anyone anyway.”

Youngjae forces his legs to keep up. “Then why did you bother in the first place?” He hopes his question doesn’t provoke anger. He’s genuinely curious, if a little confused and irritated himself.

“It’s better than sitting around the camp doing nothing.”

Youngjae is tempted to ask why Yongguk asked for only his company, but he’s not sure he wants to know the answer. Besides, Yongguk’s tone is clipped, a signal that he is beginning to lose his patience with Youngjae. But again, Yongguk does nothing, and Youngjae is left feeling constantly on edge.

Daehyun jumps up when they return to the camp, looking like he’s trying hard to stay where he is. Even Jongup gets up when he sees them a second after.

“Any news?” Daehyun asks, voice slightly higher than usual. His eyes quickly check Youngjae’s body before looking at Yongguk.

Yongguk shakes his head. “Nobody. I’m going to sleep.”

Jongup and Daehyun exchange glances once he leaves to lie down, and then they both turn to Youngjae.

“I don’t understand either,” Youngjae whispers, “and I’m going to sleep too.” He says it to get away from Daehyun’s penetrating gaze, but now that it’s out, he realises how exhausted he is after hours of fear. He takes a blanket from the pile by the Cornucopia and wraps it around himself before curling up on the ground, turning his back on the wind.

It’s Jongup who wakes him this time, with a single strong push that almost has Youngjae’s head hitting the base of the golden horn.

“Oops,” he says with a toothy grin and in the least sorry voice Youngjae has ever heard.

Daehyun is already awake, struggling to cook scraps of meat directly over a portable fire. He smiles when he sees Youngjae aim a kick at Jongup, but focuses on cooking after Youngjae doesn’t return it. Youngjae doesn’t have the energy to keep up with Daehyun’s frequent mood changes, but he goes to offer him help him anyway.

“I figured if this was going to be our last meal, I may as well make it good,” Daehyun says with an eerie brightness.

Daehyun keeps his distance after breakfast, sitting next to Jongup most of the time, or even Yongguk. Frustrated, Youngjae doesn’t talk as much, jumping on any opportunity to be useful. Has he changed his mind again? Something has been off with Daehyun ever since the first night sleeping at the Cornucopia.

This day is as uneventful as the one before, but there’s an increased anxiety that comes with the absence of food and death. It’s hotter than usual: they grow hungry and uncomfortable by midday, when they can no longer retreat under the shade of the Cornucopia. Jongup must have pressed a button while they were still sleeping.

Yongguk takes Daehyun with him to fill all their bottles at a tap in one of the houses, leaving Jongup to stay again with Youngjae.

“So,” Jongup says softly as he takes a seat on the warm stone next to Youngjae.

Youngjae turns away from the heatwaves flickering above the surface of the street in front of him, and instead observes Jongup’s thoughtful expression. “So?” he repeats.

“What happened with you and Yongguk yesterday?”

“Nothing. We just walked around for ages in silence.”

“That’s weird,” Jongup comments. He scans the streets before continuing. “Daehyun reckons he did it to gain our trust. To prove that he won’t just kill one of us for disagreeing with him.”

That… makes sense. “Do _you_ disagree with him?” Youngjae asks.

Jongup looks troubled. “Oh – I don’t know. I don’t usually – get involved in these things. In arguments and – things.”

“Out loud you don’t,” Youngjae continues, “but what about inside? You look annoyed sometimes when he tells you to do things.”

There’s a long pause before Jongup speaks again, slowly and deliberately. “He... seems to think he’s the leader. That he can boss us around and we’ll follow him because we’re scared of his eleven in training and his kill count. I don’t like that.” He frowns. “I’m as strong as he is, maybe even more, but he uses me because I don’t flaunt it like he does, and because I don’t put up a fight against him. And he’s horrible to you. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

Youngjae shrugs. “I kind of expected it; I’m not naturally a Career Tribute, so it’s enough for me that you let me into the circle in the first place.”

“Don’t say that,” Jongup says, eyebrows drawn together. “You’re as good as any of us.”

“Really?” Youngjae asks, cocking his head to the side in slight disbelief. “I’ve not exactly done much to help.”

“You are,” Jongup insists earnestly. “I’ve seen the way you chop up firewood, and you run really fast. You’ve just not had a chance to prove yourself yet.”

Bemused, Youngjae leans away a little to look at Jongup properly. The boy seems like he means it: what other reason would he have to try to flatter a useless tribute from District 7? And there’s that uncomfortable feeling again, seeing how similar Jongup is to Junhong in some aspects. How likeable they both are, and soft-spoken, and easy to convince and manipulate.

Youngjae needs to stop this. Right now. “Thanks,” he says kindly, and is relieved when he sees Daehyun and Yongguk’s figures coming towards them from a street on the left.

They amble comfortably and confidently, taking their time and swinging their weapons by their sides. Even from a distance, Youngjae can make out Daehyun’s stupid laugh. His silhouette bends over as he throws his whole body into the laugh, before a third figure slams into him.

Youngjae and Jongup scramble to their feet. There are shouts of surprise from Daehyun and Yongguk, and the third tribute shrieks wildly as she drags Daehyun backwards away from Yongguk. Daehyun doesn’t try to escape from her hold. She must have him in place with a weapon at his throat. Youngjae gapes at them helplessly.

“Let’s go round,” Jongup whispers. He jolts Youngjae. “Let’s go round,” he repeats, slightly louder this time. “She probably doesn’t know about us. I’ll go left.”

Once he’s processed Jongup’s words, Youngjae nods and takes the street to the right, running as quickly as he can without making too much sound. His fists clench tighter with each scuffle of Daehyun’s feet and each groan of discomfort. As Youngjae approaches them, the girl’s hysterical screams begin to form words.

“I said – give me food – and I’ll – I’ll let him _go_.” Daehyun gasps in pain. “I’m not – fucking around here!”

Youngjae peers around the corner of the wall, crushing the aged mortar with one palm while the other raises his axe. Daehyun’s trident lies on the floor behind him and the girl – Youngjae recognises her as the monstrous girl from District 6, delirious from hunger – while Yongguk, several metres in front of them, refuses to lower his sword.

“I _told_ you,” he hisses, “we don’t have any. We ran out too.”

“You don’t look – like someone who’s – very _hungry_ ,” she pants, and she presses the flat side of her long knife harder into Daehyun neck. “I’ll do it,” she warns in a high voice. “I’ll do it.”

“And then what?” Yongguk challenges. “I’ll kill you before you can even take a single step back. What’s the point? Let him go and fuck off.”

Youngjae edges down the alley connecting his street to the one the others are on. He sees Jongup waiting on the other side.

“At least I’ll – take one of you down – with me,” she says with a wheeze of laughter. “Where are your other – little _friends_?”

“Here,” Youngjae croaks as he steps out into the main street.

The girl spins to face him, pulling Daehyun with her. Her eyes widen even further in recognition. “Little bitch from District 7,” she spits. “Surprised they haven’t – killed you yet.”

“Let him go,” Youngjae says clearly.

“I’ll die if I don’t – eat something soon – anyway. You either – give me food or I’ll – take him down with me.”

Jongup inches forward in the alley opposite, spear poised. Youngjae stares at the mad look on the girl’s face, and then at Daehyun, desperately holding his head high and away from the edge of the knife. She moves them both back a step so she can keep an eye on both Youngjae and Yongguk.

Youngjae has food. He has the ration packs that the other Careers don’t know about. He could at least use one to distract her. The surprise and distrust of the other Careers will be worth it if he can save Daehyun’s life now. His hand moves towards his jacket pocket, but as soon as Daehyun understands what Youngjae means to do, he presses his lips closed and raises his eyebrows in warning.

Suspicious at the puzzled look on Youngjae’s face, the girl takes another step back. Daehyun’s teeth sink into his bottom lip when the knife grazes the skin of his throat.

“Ok, fine!” Youngjae exclaims. “Here.”

As he digs his free hand into his trouser pocket instead, the girl’s arm across Daehyun’s shoulder relaxes ever so slightly. Behind her, Jongup takes advantage: pulling her arm back with one hand, he thrusts his spear into her back with the other. Her eyes bulge and her mouth drops open, and she grunts when Jongup pulls the spear out and stabs it back in again.

Immediately, Daehyun lunges forward towards Youngjae, stooping with his hands on his knees as he splutters and tries to catch his breath. Youngjae reaches out on instinct and grips Daehyun’s shoulder, holding him still. Furiously looking between Youngjae and Daehyun on one side and Jongup on the other, Yongguk strides forwards and wrests the spear from Jongup’s hand. He kicks the girl to the ground and buries the shaft in her chest.

The cannon booms as Daehyun stands up straight. Youngjae drops his hand and looks away from the blood. He doesn’t move back when Daehyun takes a step closer to him again, but he doesn’t touch him either. The rage in Yongguk’s expression makes him turn out his empty trouser pockets and keep his mouth closed.

Around them, trumpets echo in the early afternoon sky. Finally: an announcement for a feast, at midday tomorrow. Still breathless, Daehyun catches his eye.


	10. Chapter 10

In the waning light of the evening sun, Yongguk fretfully paces back and forth, repeating the plan under his breath again. “I stay at the Cornucopia, get everything as soon as it appears. You all wait on the edge of the city square and kill anyone before they can get too close. I’ll deal with anyone who makes it past you.” He stops abruptly but doesn’t look at the other three, who are sitting cross-legged in a line on the floor. “What time are we starting?”

Daehyun clears his throat softly but still winces. “Daybreak? Or maybe just before. That’ll still give us a good six hours to watch out before noon. Nobody else will be that early.”

Yongguk nods once. “Make sure nobody sees you hiding. Even I shouldn’t be able to see you.”

With his chin resting in his hand, Youngjae aimlessly drags his forefinger through the dust on the ground, now that he’s finally finished making a pile of small stones. The initial phase of hunger is over, replaced by a dull lightness in his stomach. He’s been this hungry many times, but knowing that he has food in his pocket, separated from his stomach by mere centimetres of fabric and flesh, makes it feel worse because it’s so pointless. He wonders if Yongguk wants them to be on the outside so they die first.

“We should go to bed soon, then,” Daehyun says. “We need to be up early.”

“Jongup, you take first watch,” says Yongguk.

Next to Youngjae, Jongup starts.

“I took it yesterday, though,” he mumbles.

“And?” Yongguk says shortly.

“It wasn’t even yesterday, it was just this morning.” Jongup’s voice becomes clearer. “It should be your turn. You’ve not been on watch since we came to the Cornucopia.”

Yongguk finally faces Jongup with a gaze that would normally make the boy cower, but Jongup stares right back.

“It’s ok,” Youngjae blurts, “I’ll take it. I didn’t do it yesterday.”

Daehyun sends him a thankful look.

Youngjae expects Yongguk to insist on Jongup, but strangely, Yongguk shrugs after a moment and goes to find a place to sleep.

“That’s not fair,” Jongup whispers once Yongguk is out of earshot. “He’ll probably refuse to take second watch too.”

“We can share his watch between us,” Daehyun murmurs to Jongup. “It won’t be too bad.”

“I’m _tired_ ,” Jongup grumbles. He purses his lips. “Reckon he has food that he’s not telling us about?”

Youngjae leans his head to the side. “I wouldn’t be surprised, I guess,” he says vaguely.

“Jongup, we should sleep,” Daehyun says firmly. He glances at Youngjae with an unreadable expression before getting a blanket and passing the third to Jongup.

Over the next couple of hours, Youngjae crushes the pile of stones to the ground and rebuilds it several times, then takes one of the bigger stones and scratches little drawings into the concrete. A sigh to his left catches his attention, and he’s surprised when Daehyun slumps next to him and offers him half of his blanket again.

“I thought you were asleep,” Youngjae whispers. “You weren’t moving about like last time.”

“I can lie still if I want to,” grunts Daehyun.

Youngjae pokes him just under his ribcage. “What’s up?”

Temporarily confused by Youngjae’s playfulness, Daehyun shakes his head. “Oh. Just… we _are_ doing it tomorrow, right?”

“Doing what?” Youngjae asks with a sly grin.

Daehyun exhales agitatedly. “Leaving the other two.”

Youngjae raises his eyebrows in mock realisation. “Oh, _that?_ ” He rolls the stone between his thumb and forefinger. “Sure, why not.”

“Youngjae you idiot, now’s not the time. Don’t mess me around like this.”

“Gosh, why are you so obsessed with me?” Youngjae says with a theatrical sigh.

For a moment, Daehyun seems to teeter on the edge of a frustrated outburst, but then he claps a hand over his mouth to muffle a snigger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m not _quite_ there yet,” he says once he’s composed himself enough, but Youngjae’s snort has him laughing as silently as he can into his palm again.

Youngjae’s smile falters at the sight of Daehyun with his head thrown back and tears of mirth in his eyes. He’s been focusing on getting away from Yongguk and Jongup for so long, as well as whatever will happen at the feast, that he’s pushed what comes next to the back of his mind. If all goes well, it’ll be just him and Daehyun left in the Games after. Only Daehyun left to get rid of. But with each soft glance and witty comment, the idea of that is more offputting than it used to be. Even at the start, Youngjae wasn’t looking forward to it, but now he dreads it.

He’s come so far though, he tells himself. It’ll only be the last hurdle, and then he can go home.

Daehyun’s laugh is interrupted by a cough that he masks with his fist. He runs a finger absentmindedly along the faint scar across his throat.

“Does it still hurt?”

Daehyun smiles shyly. “Not really. It’s just weird.”

Youngjae makes a sympathetic sound. “We should sort out a meeting place for tomorrow.”

“Why don’t we just hide in the same place? Then we won’t have to worry about not being able to find each other. Yongguk won’t know.”

Youngjae shakes his head quickly. “If another tribute tries to get to the Cornucopia past us, we’ll have to do something about it. Step out and fight. He’ll find out somehow. There’s no point taking a risk like that.”

Daehyun sighs. “Are we running away as soon as it starts?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. Meet in front of that apartment block with the really wide windows? Should probably get there in twenty minutes, maximum.”

“The really tall one?”

“Yeah.”

Youngjae tries to think back to the view of the city during the day. “That’s… northwest?”

“I think so.”

“Ok,” Youngjae says quietly. He pulls his knees in closer and Daehyun does the same next to him. “It’s kind of scary, isn’t it?”

Daehyun watches him closely. “What is? The feast?”

“Yeah – I don’t know, everything,” Youngjae mutters, squeezing his hands between his thighs to keep them warm. “Being here, having people die and get hurt all around. This constant feeling that anything could happen in a second, even if you were looking out for it. No guarantee of safety.”

“I get you,” Daehyun whispers. He pauses. “Thanks for distracting her, by the way. You helped save me.”

Ignoring the guilt pricking at him inside, Youngjae basks in the grateful smile Daehyun gives him. “It’s ok. Jongup did most of the work.”

“He couldn’t have done it without you.”

Youngjae grins. “You give me too much credit.”

“I’ll take over watch for now, if you want,” Daehyun offers. “I can’t sleep anyway. I’ll wake you up after the anthem.”

“Really?” Youngjae asks, making sure to widen his eyes as he beams at Daehyun. “You’re the best.”

Falling asleep with his head on Daehyun’s shoulder is easy enough. What’s not so easy is keeping the feelings of shame at a distance like he usually does, when he’s pulled in and out of consciousness by Daehyun’s fingers lightly threading through his hair.

They get ready early the next morning in silence, relying on the floor lights around the Cornucopia to see. Nobody complains when Yongguk takes the backpack and nestles himself into the nook between the Cornucopia and the protruding step facing south. At least he lets them each take a bottle of warm water. Youngjae volunteers to hide out at the street opening at the northern side of the city square, and Daehyun takes the western side, leaving Jongup to take the eastern. Yongguk waves them away without so much as a glance, let alone a wish of farewell or good luck.

Daehyun gives Youngjae a nervous smile, reminiscent of the Opening Ceremony.

Despite his hunger and nervousness, Youngjae feels a strange sense of calm ebb away at his skin as he watches the sun grow higher and stronger from his hiding place, behind the three dustbins he’d pulled together beside a wall. His fingers finally stop making jittery movements. The burden will be off his shoulders soon: this time _Yongguk_ will be spattered with his _own_ blood. Junhong can smile softly in his sleep.

It must be almost midday from the way the shadows have shrunk so much. Youngjae begins to feel lightheaded and sleepy; today is the hottest day in the arena yet. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket and feels the foil of the ration packs, making it crinkle beneath his fingers. Daehyun won’t mind, will probably even expect him to eat one, won’t think badly of him. That’s what makes Youngjae pull his hand back out.

The light scrape of a plastic shoe sole against concrete draws his attention to the figure at the other end of the street, creeping towards the city centre slowly.

He sits up straighter. The tribute scans her surroundings again before picking up her pace. She’s walking quickly, now almost at a run. Has she seen something?

Youngjae counts five seconds after she passes him before leaning over to peer around the wall. In front of the Cornucopia, several metres away from where he kept watch last night, stands a table, piled high with the finest food from the Capitol. His stomach gives a weak lurch as he takes in everything, from the unfamiliar meats down to the exotic fruits and the chocolate pudding in beautifully carved glass bowls. There’s nothing that anyone can grab and run: around the table are seven tall chairs with embroidered golden cushions matching the tablecloth, inviting tributes to sit down together. Seven, not nine.

The girl stops at the first chair just as Yongguk appears, his face contorting in confusion at the number of chairs. Youngjae spies another tribute lurking by the buildings behind him. The third remaining tribute is nowhere to be seen, but she must be close by. Daehyun should be gone by now, Jongup still waiting, hidden, or fighting the missing tribute. Or gone too: how did the second tribute get there without being seen?

Youngjae’s hand closes around Junhong’s controller as Yongguk takes a step towards the first tribute. He clicks the lid open as he pulls it out of his pocket, then stands up and steps to the other side of the bins, away from the city centre. Hurricane, fire, earthquake, flood, blizzard, thunderstorm, another six. He presses them all, pointing the controller at Yongguk’s feet.

He throws the controller in the middle bin and turns around. The first bang roars behind him just as he starts to sprint.

 

* * *

 

 

As they waited for the interviews to begin, the tributes lined up backstage in district order. Youngjae tried to catch Daehyun’s eye, but the boy was too busy fidgeting with the buttons on his suit to notice. If Youngjae was nervous, at least he didn’t show it like Daehyun did. Even from a few metres away, he could see how clammy Daehyun’s hands were.

Himchan had wished Youngjae good luck in the elevator without looking at him, and left to take his seat in the audience. And now the tributes were being called onstage, in full view of the cameras, Gamemakers and Capitol citizens, to sit on the edge and watch as the show’s opening theme was blared out, and Caesar Flickerman introduced himself.

The tall girl from District 1 was first. She acted even more slyly than usual, finishing every sentence with a knowing smirk or the arrogant cock of an eyebrow. Jongup needed more coaxing from Caesar to get his answers out, but his sweet smiles, surprising for a Career Tribute, charmed the audience. Yongguk was quiet and thoughtful, though the few words he said were uttered with a deep, slow and sure voice. He certainly made an impact. Youngjae could already feel members of the audience deciding to help sponsor or place their bets on him: physically, Yongguk was the embodiment of what a Career Tribute should be, and the way he spoke suggested powerful strength hidden underneath.

When Junhong left the arc of tributes to join Caesar in the centre of the stage, Youngjae leaned forward in his seat slightly. Junhong looked striking in a black suit, with tiny lights on his jacket forming a pattern similar to a circuit board. His legs seemed even longer, if possible. Though his ears progressively reddened during the three minutes, he answered Caesar’s questions with entertaining stories and gestures. His score must have helped boost his confidence, Youngjae reasoned. At one point, Junhong gushed about how _nice_ everybody here was, and how friendly they had been to him. Youngjae’s vacant smile became tight-lipped.

Daehyun’s leg bounced up and down throughout his entire interview. By the audience’s loud responses to his jokes and laughs, Youngjae could tell he was the clear favourite so far. At least _his_ stylist hadn’t tried to dress him like a fish or something; his deep blue suit shimmered with glitter when he moved, reminding Youngjae of ocean water sparkling with moonlight.

“Daehyun, tell me, what have you enjoyed about the Capitol most, so far?” Caesar asked lightly.

Daehyun flashed another blinding grin. “Well I’ve met a lot of people, and I’ve made a few good friends. And right now, I get to sit in front of you beautiful people,” he said, gesturing first to the audience, and then to the cameras. He even blew a kiss. The audience screamed wildly.

Youngjae, however, frowned. _I wouldn’t call him my friend. I wouldn’t call anyone here my friend._

Daehyun continued to flatter the audience, and complimented everything about the Capitol, from its food to the view from his window. The crowd cheered from the moment the buzzer went off to well after he sat down again with the other tributes.

The other interviews went by in a blur of colours and fake laughter, until Youngjae’s name was being called. He walked forward slowly so as not to trip over, waved good-naturedly at the audience, and shook Caesar’s hand firmly.

“So, Youngjae,” Caesar began. “You look very different now from when we last saw you. I can’t help but remember how reserved you looked during the opening ceremony, as if you were already in the arena!”

Youngjae gave a lopsided smile. “I’m not sure what was going through my head, to be honest. I was really nervous, I suppose, being in front of so many people.” He wasn’t going to stoop as low as Daehyun and praise the Capitol in every other sentence – there were other ways of making people like you. As long as he made sure the audience didn’t think his behaviour at the opening ceremony was rude. Besides, he was right after all: acting unenthusiastic then _had_ drawn attention to him. Not all attention was good attention, but once you had it, making it good was easy. “And I was still not over the surprise of being chosen at the reaping. But now I’ve had time to get myself together, and feel more comfortable in front of an audience, and act like I usually would at home.”

The crowd made sounds of understanding.

Youngjae’s mention of home spurred Caesar to quiz him on it. After a brief description of his family, Youngjae rushed on to a memory from three summers ago, when he and his friends had tried to play dominoes with trees in the early evening, after everyone had gone home. They had left each tree after most of the trunk had been chopped to make it easier for it to fall when the tree before hit it. Only they couldn’t fully predict the path this gigantic game would take: after the first three trees fell, the fourth fell at an angle, and came crashing down right on a wasp’s nest.

The audience gasped in horror: they probably thought it was a tracker jacker nest. It wasn’t, but Youngjae felt that correcting them wouldn’t do him many favours. Instead, he jumped up and excitedly mimed his reaction, and how he grabbed his friends and ran like his life depended on it – in the audience’s mind, it did. The crowd initially howled in laughter, but as that died out, there was an unmistakeable collective sigh, as if they were honestly relieved he had escaped. He doubted they would have been if he had said he had actually sprinted off by himself, leaving his friends behind to run another way.

Youngjae’s story had taken up half of his time, but the approval he received from the audience’s cheers encouraged him to be even more vivacious than he was with Himchan. By the time he had made a pun or two, the audience began to laugh every time he paused, as though they found his words amusing because they wanted to, and not necessarily because they always were.

“We’re almost out of time, so I have one final question for you, Youngjae. Which three words would you use to describe yourself?”

_Selfish, emotional, average._

“Caring, loyal and determined.”

Caesar waited for a moment to make Youngjae’s choice of words seem more profound, before bouncing up and wishing him luck. The audience’s applause rang in Youngjae’s ears. It wasn’t as loud as it was after Daehyun’s interview, but it certainly wasn’t one of the quietest responses. He made sure to smile sweetly at the crowd and the cameras, before taking his seat again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Youngjae runs faster than he ever has in his life, but the second bang and the violent tremor beneath his feet send him tumbling to the ground. His chin is only grazed, but both elbows and knees fully crash against the concrete, leaving him shocked and disorientated.

The pain is excruciating and the buildings seem to sway around him, but he has to keep going. Biting down on his lips to silence a scream, he drags his body forward a little first, before unsteadily standing back up. The sky is dark already.

He gags at the smell of smoke and burnt plastic. Behind him, a furious howling of wind and rain joins the bangs. He forces himself to take a step, but his knees threaten to give out. A deafening clap of thunder follows immediately after a flash of lightning, and an icy gust throws him back down.

As he lies face down on the pavement, Youngjae is wracked with shivers when he recognises the very real possibility that he won’t be able to get away from the chaos behind him quickly enough. With increasing desperation, he tries to get his limbs to move, but they still lay there limply. He needs to move. He has to _move_.

Blood from his elbows seeps across the concrete towards his nose. Somewhere in the Capitol, Himchan must be exhaling impatiently, or maybe even anxiously.

He doesn’t dare look back yet: the shriek from one of the other tributes is enough for now. Why did he use the controller from so close up? What was he fucking _thinking?_  It doesn’t matter if he makes noise now; nobody will hear him over the sounds from the Cornucopia. Grunting and gasping, he finally manages to pull himself up on his knees using his axe handle and then to his feet again, and jerks forward. Though his knees feel like they’re being pierced, the smoke and wind chasing him spur him on. He can no longer run, having to stumble breathlessly on at a maddeningly slow pace, but he refuses to pause or else he might not be able to start again.

The air is slightly cleaner when he reaches the end of the street so he risks a quick glance over his shoulder, but instantly regrets it. The city centre is completely shrouded in thick smoke, torn by the strongest winds Youngjae has ever seen. Fierce rain, snow and hail disappear inside it, illuminated by horrific streaks of lightning. Even from where Youngjae is standing, the ground still shakes mercilessly. If there is fire and whatever else was on the buttons of the controller, he can’t see them. Turning back, he frantically tries to move faster.

It takes him well over an hour to reach the apartment block with the wide windows. There’s a figure in the distance, but Youngjae doesn’t have the energy to call Daehyun’s name, buckled over in pain and fatigue. He can only try to stand straighter and wait as Daehyun notices him, then rushes towards him.

“Where the _hell_ –” exclaims Daehyun as he roughly pulls Youngjae into a fierce embrace, “have you been?” He ignores Youngjae’s weak moans of protest and holds him even tighter. “I was scared _sick_. I thought you were dead. Whatever the hell happened back there – I don’t – what _happened?_ ” he says as he finally lets go of Youngjae’s neck. “What happened to you?”

Youngjae is alarmed to see the wetness of Daehyun’s eyes, tinged red. “I don’t – I didn’t realise –” he stammers. “I heard a bang and – figured I should run.” He stops to catch his breath. “It was like a nightmare. Hurricanes and thunderstorms and – the weather – went _insane_. I was lucky to get away.”

Daehyun gapes at him in horror. “I could only hear it and see clouds and smoke. Is everyone else…”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear the cannon but – it was so loud anyway. I was already running away, though. Whoever was in the city square – surely –”

Daehyun nods briskly. “You look awful,” he says as he takes in Youngjae’s bloodied appearance. “You can barely stand. Come, let’s wash you up and then –”

“No!” Youngjae cries. “We can’t go into a house. Not when we’re both like this.”

“What can we do, then?” Daehyun says hotly. “You –”

“Let’s just sit –” interrupts Youngjae, panting, “sit down for a bit. _Please_.”

Daehyun sucks in a breath as if to argue, but lets it go. He guides Youngjae to an old picnic bench in the shade behind the apartment building and sets about trying to stop the bleeding.

Youngjae is reminded bitterly of the day Junhong died. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s more physically shaken than emotionally this time or because Daehyun is being kinder, but Daehyun’s concerned looks and soft touches feel more raw, yet bring him less comfort than they should. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t deserve Daehyun’s sympathy this time. He’s hurt because of his own actions. The anthem tonight will tell him if it was worth it.

Daehyun’s hand abruptly draws back.

“Sorry, were you saying something?” Youngjae says. He can’t relax. His body is strung too tight, and even though he’s tired, his mind keeps trying to race ahead.

Clearly disappointed, Daehyun shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

“Tell me,” Youngjae insists, searching Daehyun’s face for a clue. When Daehyun lowers his gaze, Youngjae does too.

“Just that… this is the first time we’re not surrounded by other people.”

Youngjae looks back up curiously. “Not the first,” he says with a small smile. He disgusts himself sometimes.

“That hardly counts. It wasn’t even a minute.”

Youngjae shrugs.

“It’s weird. What now? We say we’re friends, but we hardly know each other.”

“But we do,” says Youngjae slowly. When Daehyun looks at him in confusion, he goes on. “You’re caring. Loyal. Determined. You live life properly, for the right reasons.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Youngjae ignores him. “What’s the point in knowing someone your whole life if you don’t know what they’re like an inch from death? I know you better than anyone.”

Daehyun stares at him, jaw slack. “So why can’t I say the same for you?”

Youngjae tells himself that doesn’t hurt. “I don’t know, why?” When Daehyun can’t think of a reply, Youngjae reaches into his pocket and takes out two ration packs and hands one to him.

“Thanks,” Daehyun says. “How many do you have left?”

“Four.”

Daehyun frowns. “But you had six to start with.”

“Yeah.” Youngjae rips his packet open.

“Then… you haven’t had any. You sat hiding alone for six hours this morning and almost died and didn’t eat anything.”

“I guess,” Youngjae mumbles, before taking a bite.

They eat in silence. Youngjae finds it harder to swallow than usual, and has to put his pack down several times to massage a part of his body or just breathe. Daehyun finishes before Youngjae and waits patiently to take the foil wrapper, watching him carefully. He leaves the bench to put the wrappers in the bin at the entrance to the apartment block.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Youngjae says with a bemused smile.

Daehyun grins embarrassedly. “Habit.”

Before Daehyun can sit down, a voice calls his name in the distance.

They both freeze, then Daehyun has the sense to help Youngjae down to the floor with him and look around for its source.

“There,” Youngjae whispers.

A male tribute stops on the other side of the road and lowers his spear.

“It’s Jongup,” Youngjae gasps. “He got away too!” But how? How did he escape that without a head start like Youngjae?

“He must have seen or heard me. Why would he call my name?” Daehyun whispers back.

“Now what?”

“He’s so oblivious. Can’t he see it’s too late in the Games for this?”

“He’s coming towards us,” Youngjae says quietly. “I think we’re going to have to take him back, at least for now.”

Daehyun reluctantly nods once.

Youngjae stays sitting on the ground as Daehyun gets to his feet to let Jongup see him.

The boy saunters over, completely unharmed. He even grins lazily at the sight of Youngjae crouched on the floor, and offers a hand to pull him up. Youngjae takes it and raises his chin as he looks slightly down at Jongup.

“How are you alive?” Youngjae asks. “You don’t even look hurt.”

Taken aback by Youngjae’s bluntness, Jongup’s grin becomes nervous for a second before relaxing again. “I didn’t wait. I didn’t think you two would either,” he adds, looking from Youngjae’s cuts and bruises to Daehyun. “That was clearly the end of us and Yongguk, so I wasn’t going to listen to his orders again. I left about an hour before midday.”

“Daehyun said he started running right when it started,” Youngjae says after a pause. “I tried to see what was going on first, which is why…” he trails off, showing Jongup the rips and bloodstains on his clothes.

“Ouch,” Jongup says. His voice is still flat, but his eyebrows crease a little in sympathy. “You look like you need to lie down a bit.”

“We all do,” Daehyun says with a sigh. “We’ve deserved some rest, I think.”

They sleep the rest of the day away in the cool shade. The ground is hard under Youngjae’s back, and he tosses about uncomfortably at first, muscles stiff. Daehyun is fast asleep facing Youngjae on his side, and Jongup snores behind him. Youngjae looks at the way Daehyun’s eyelashes brush against his mole when he breathes out. The scar on his neck is thin but dark, and when Youngjae finally closes his eyes, he has a strange urge to lightly run his finger along it.

Youngjae hears Daehyun and Jongup’s soft voices after nightfall, but hours of rest have done hardly anything to soothe his aches and rekindled hunger, but he can’t eat in front of Jongup. He’s still _so_ exhausted, but not the kind that will go away after a good night’s sleep. It’s not just a weariness of the body; he’s tired of fear and uncertainty and vigilance.

For some reason, the image of Red Hair lying drenched in a pool of her own blood appears in his head. He had almost forgotten about her in the last week. Was there actually that much blood or is his mind taking it too far? In her hair, spattered across her face, running down her neck. So much blood, everywhere. Under his nails, on his clothes, dried somewhere between his calves and the torn fabric of his trousers. He’s sick of it.

Youngjae drifts back into a fitful sleep, and is only pulled out of it by the anthem, louder than ever in the quiet night. Hurriedly, he sits up and is momentarily confused by the sudden movement, but then for the first time, he isn’t terrified when he sees Yongguk’s face.

He’s dead. Youngjae killed him. It _worked_. A thin boy from District 7 with only an eight in training managed to kill the leader of the Careers. Managed to get revenge.

The faces of the other three tributes look down at him from the sky too: the female tributes from 3, 5 and 8. All of them, dead because of him.

He’s a murderer.

 _No_ , he tells himself firmly. He’s not. He didn’t kill them with his own hands, he only caused it. That’s not as bad. It’s not. He feels no pride at the news of Yongguk’s death though, only acceptance, and a dull satisfaction that things had gone the way he planned.

Then this is it. There’s nobody left in the arena apart from the three of them. The deaths at the feast must have been enough to sate the audience’s appetite for the day, but if Youngjae doesn’t do something soon, the Gamemakers will interfere. And he _can_ do something, he’s proved he can. He just needs to not think for a while again and get it done.

“Jongup,” he slurs when the anthem fades out, and the only light left is from the streetlamp hanging above them, “what’s that in your pocket?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what has it got in its nasssty little pocketses
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> i'm so sorry


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick heads up: this is a one shot mv and hunger games au, so it's pretty violent. now we're nearing the end, it's obviously only going to get worse. regarding the ending, my friend suggested I warn readers because it can be a triggering theme for some. so if you'd rather know what you're getting into, then [click here](http://bapofficial.tumblr.com/private/160311670810/tumblr_opg5emErYE1uvm5ks) (warning: serious spoilers). if not, then feel free to ignore this and happy (?????? lol) reading!

“What?” Jongup asks distractedly, the remnants of a grin still pulling on the corners of his mouth. Clearly, he’s more relieved by Yongguk’s death than Youngjae is.

“Your pocket,” Youngjae repeats in a low voice that resounds in the fresh silence of the night. “There’s a lump in your jacket pocket. What is that?”

Jongup looks down at his jacket in confusion: there is no protruding lump. “What are you talking about?”

Daehyun peers at the two of them in curiosity.

“Here,” Youngjae says, leaning over towards Jongup.

Immediately, Jongup jerks back. “There’s nothing there. What are you trying to do?” His eyes narrow in suspicion, trying to make sense of Youngjae’s motives.

“Jongup, calm down,” Daehyun says from the side. He shuffles closer to sit between them. “If it’s nothing then there’s no need to get defensive.”

“Exactly,” Jongup replies quickly. “There’s nothing.”

Youngjae moves forward again and prods Jongup’s waist. The boy flinches, but under Youngjae’s insistent fingers and Daehyun’s intrigued gaze, he doesn’t move out of reach. At first there’s nothing but flesh behind the cloth of Jongup’s jacket – Youngjae worries that he got it wrong, maybe Jongup hid it somewhere else, maybe he got rid of it – until it’s replaced by hard plastic. “That,” he says loudly.

Daehyun’s hand joins Youngjae’s and he frowns when he feels it too. “What _is_ that?”

Jongup looks at them blankly. “It’s nothing.”

“Then there’s no harm in us seeing,” Daehyun shoots back.

Slowly, Jongup pulls the zip down his jacket until it’s fully open. He then reaches for the inside pocket with a slightly trembling hand, and pulls out the controller.

“When did you get that?” Youngjae gasps. “Yongguk said you didn’t have any when I first joined you guys.” He turns to Daehyun. “Did you know about it?”

Gaze locked on the controller in Jongup’s hand, Daehyun shakes his head. “No,” he says in an eerily soft voice, “I didn’t.”

Jongup gulps and looks down.

“Pass it here, Jongup,” Daehyun says in the same tone. “Let me look at it.”

Obligingly, Jongup stretches his hand out to Daehyun, and Daehyun takes it from him carefully. He turns it over in his hands, examining it, until he digs his nails into the side and clicks the lid open. Twelve buttons, twelve different pictures of weather conditions.

“The weather controller,” Daehyun breathes, before letting out an abrupt forced laugh. “Are you serious? All this time… _you_ had it? And you never told us?”

“I never used it for anything bad,” Jongup says timidly. “The Gamemakers messed with the weather too, if I didn’t do anything.” He pauses. “I hardly used it at all.”

“If you weren’t going to use it, why wouldn’t you tell us? It’s been a _week._ ”

“You never used it for anything bad?” Youngjae repeats in disbelief, before Jongup has time to think of an answer. Not that he’s good on his feet with sticking up for himself, Youngjae notes. “You almost killed me, more than once. You…” he trails off, as if lost in thought. “Daehyun, let me see,” he says suddenly.

Daehyun tilts the controller down so that Youngjae can see the buttons.

“Wind, thunderstorms, rain…” Youngjae says in a distant voice.

Daehyun straightens his back. “Isn’t that what you said–”

“Yeah,” Youngjae replies.

“What?” Jongup asks weakly. His mouth twitches before stretching slightly into a nervous grin. “Said what?”

“That’s what happened at the feast today.” Youngjae says. “It was the weather that killed everyone.”

Jongup’s eyes widen. “No. No, you’ve got it wrong. That wasn’t me. No. It can’t have been – how can this controller do anything that big?”

“The hailstones smashed the window of the house I stayed in on the first night,” continues Youngjae. “Big enough, don’t you think? There were all kinds of shit going on at the feast. If you pressed more than one button, why wouldn’t it be able to do that much damage?”

“No.” Jongup shakes his head desperately. His mouth opens, but he can’t say anything else.

Youngjae forces himself to not look away from Jongup’s bewildered and terrified expression.

“You weren’t hurt at all today,” Daehyun adds, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re the only one who left the city centre that early.”

“That’s not–” Jongup blurts, “I just wanted to get away from Yongguk! I wasn’t–”

“Exactly,” Youngjae interrupts. “You hated him. I had more reason to, but I put up with it. You’re the one who complained about him to me behind his back. Said you didn’t like him bossing you about. Said you disagreed with him.”

“Is that true?” Daehyun asks.

“That’s – different! I’d never–” Jongup stammers.

“No wonder you were so against taking watch last night,” Youngjae says coldly. “Needed your strength?”

“Youngjae,” Jongup whispers pleadingly. His eyes water from hurt, or fear, or helplessness. Youngjae doesn’t want to know.

“Complimenting me, saying I was as good as any of you Careers. Trying to get my support so I wouldn’t suspect you for killing Yongguk after you let it slip how much you couldn’t stand him? Why else would you lie about that? We both know I’m not equal to you guys.”

Jongup’s bottom lip quivers as he shakes his head again, and a tear falls down his cheek.

This is going wrong. Youngjae can’t do anything now, or he’ll look like the bad one. Jongup has to make the first move.

He _is_ the bad one, he reminds himself. He’s despicable. With the news of the four tributes who died because of him fresh in his mind, he didn’t even wait before moving onto his next victim. His next unsuspecting, vulnerable victim.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had it?” Daehyun repeats, kneeling closer to Jongup.

“I don’t know. I don’t – know. I didn’t even use it!”

Youngjae winces mentally. Jongup is digging himself further down without meaning to.

“I’m not fond of lies,” Daehyun says in a dangerous voice. Shouting wouldn’t have made as much of an impact as his distrust and disappointment.

“What’s stopping you from trying to kill us, then?” Youngjae accuses. “You’ve lied more than once. Fucking about with my insecurities like that, manipulating me for your own benefit. The fact that you hid the controller in the first place proves everything. What else are you hiding?”

 _“Nothing!”_ Jongup cries. “It wasn’t me!”

“Why did you come back then? Why did you come crawling back to us, pretending to be clueless? You knew the alliance was over.”

“I came back because I trusted you!” Jongup exclaims, eyes brimming again, this time with angry tears. “So I could help you against District 10!”

“But I’ve done nothing to deserve your trust,” Youngjae snaps. “You’re lying again. There’s no such thing as trust in the arena. You’re a Career: you should know better than anyone. You came back to kill us, not to suck up to us and cry on the floor. _Liar_.”

Daehyun looks at Youngjae in mild surprise. “Youngjae–”

“Fine,” Jongup spits. He shuffles back and grabs his spear, then jumps up.

Daehyun is too fast for him, though. Trident forgotten, he blocks Jongup’s thrust and knocks his arms back. The spear falls to the ground with a piercing clang. Jongup’s torso is defenceless: an unprotected plank of wood, waiting for the axe.

Youngjae wraps his sweaty fingers around its handle.

Jongup struggles against Daehyun’s hold, growing increasingly desperate and manic as he kicks at Daehyun’s shins. “You want me to be a Career?” he pants. “Fine!” He twists his left arm free and strikes Daehyun hard across the side of his face, then wraps it around Daehyun’s neck with brutal force. Daehyun moves one of his hands to grapple with Jongup’s arm, trying to pull it away from its chokehold. His fingers claw at Jongup’s skin. Jongup snarls.

Aghast, Youngjae watches them as if in slow motion. He takes in Jongup’s adrenaline-fueled violence against someone he had once saved, and Daehyun’s sheer human determination to survive. His neck looks so fragile, like a sapling left to face the fury of the wind.

Daehyun grunts breathlessly from the effort of trying to resist Jongup’s death grip, but he refuses to let go of Jongup’s other arm. With a frustrated scream, Jongup releases his neck and pummels him in the stomach relentlessly. Daehyun bends over, winded. Blood drips from his mouth and stains the pavement.

The moment Jongup finally pauses for breath, Daehyun retaliates with a sharp kick just below his kneecap. Immediately, they part. Youngjae can’t tell if one pushed the other, but Daehyun flies forward and trips over, while Jongup falls back, legs bent and palms splayed across the concrete behind him to stop his head from cracking on it. He hisses in pain and throws his weight onto his elbows instead, sinking even lower, leaving his front more exposed.

 _Now._ Stumbling forward, Youngjae swings his axe high before driving it down into Jongup’s navel with all his strength. The handle pushes back in his hands, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. He isn’t familiar with the softness of flesh under the blade, though. He pulls the axe back out and drops it to the ground.

A strangled gasp escapes Jongup’s lips. His head slumps to the ground but his legs still stay bent upright. His jaw is slack, but no more sound comes out.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun whispers from a few feet away. His voice is muffled. There’s the sound of spitting.

Youngjae doesn’t look at him. He watches the blood gushing from Jongup’s wound under the light from the streetlamp. He steps back quickly before it reaches his feet. Jongup’s face is set in a frown, eyes struggling to focus. Youngjae takes another step back when Jongup’s gaze falls on him.

“Oh my god,” Youngjae moans. He presses the back of his hand against his open mouth.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun repeats. His voice sounds clearer and closer now: he can’t be too hurt.

Slowly, Jongup looks down.

“I killed him,” Youngjae blabs, “I _killed_ him, I killed _Jongup,_ I–”

“Youngjae!”

Youngjae’s head snaps up. Daehyun stares at him in shock.

“I killed him with my own hands,” Youngjae says, looking back at him, lost.

And that’s what makes the difference, he realises. He didn’t see Yongguk and the three other tributes as they died: he didn’t see their faces contort in betrayal and hurt, didn’t see the damage he’d done to their bodies. One distant scream was bad enough, but what is that compared to Jongup crying because of him? After all the smiles and secrets Jongup trusted him with, Youngjae twisted them into a weapon to stab him, made him out to be a liar. Youngjae must be the biggest fucking hypocrite in the country. He can’t stand himself.

“You had to,” Daehyun tries to reassure him, though he too looks uncertain. He can stand straight, Youngjae notes in faint relief. “You did what you had to do to survive. If he killed me, he would have moved onto you as well.”

“I didn’t want you to die,” Youngjae mumbles awkwardly. It’s not exactly a lie. His face feels hot, but not from embarrassment. He blinks rapidly to chase the tears away – he doesn’t want to cry in front of _Daehyun,_ for fuck’s sake, not after what just happened, not after _he_ was the one who used as a punchbag – but they spill over anyway. He scrubs at his face with his tattered sleeve. “I need to get away.”

“Ok,” Daehyun says as calmly as he can, but his heavy breathing gives him away. “Let’s go.” He stands beside Youngjae, then turns back to look at Jongup lying on the concrete, eyes now closed. He leans down to pick Youngjae’s axe up, gritting his teeth to contain a pained groan.

“Leave it.”

“What?” Daehyun asks incredulously. “You need a weapon.”

“Just… leave it,” Youngjae says.

The cannon booms, making Daehyun jerk back upright.

“It’s dirty.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keeping up with Junhong’s legs was no easy feat, but Youngjae was determined to speak to him one last time before going into the arena the next morning. Not necessarily to apologise – there was nothing to apologise for, really – but simply to finish on a pleasant note. Junhong deserved at least that much from him. To know that Youngjae hadn’t prompted Junhong to introduce himself and spill his worries to him for any motive other than to make a friend, and be a friend. And maybe, Youngjae could feel like he had one less thing to worry about: one less thing to feel guilty about.

“Hey, Junhong!” Youngjae called as quietly as he could, just before Junhong reached the elevators.

Junhong’s head whipped around at the sound of his name, and his eyebrows rose by a fraction. When Youngjae finally reached him, Junhong looked hesitant. Nervous, even. That hurt – hadn’t they already been through this stage? Or maybe those days of nothing made him doubt their comfortable closeness on the first day.

“Your interview was so good!” Youngjae blurted breathlessly, perhaps a little louder than he intended to be. Some of the tributes shot him unfriendly looks. “There must be loads of people waiting to sponsor you now,” he added in a quieter, but equally eager voice. He didn’t mention Junhong’s score. That would make it look like Youngjae was trying to sidle up to him again, for the wrong reasons.

Taken aback, Junhong struggled to compose his facial expression. “You – yours too. They really liked you,” he said awkwardly.

“Well they definitely liked you too,” Youngjae insisted. He hoped his persistent stare told Junhong this wasn’t just a compliment for its own sake.

Junhong seemed to be mulling something over in his mind. He gnawed at his lips and raised his eyes from the ground to meet Youngjae’s gaze several times, as though he wondered if he might find the insincerity he was looking for with every next check. He must not have been able to find it in the end, as he finally opened his mouth again.

“Youngjae!” exclaimed a loud voice right in Youngjae’s ear.

Youngjae jumped, and was rewarded with Daehyun’s laugh: the staged one to hide his nervousness that made Youngjae cringe. Daehyun excitably complimented Youngjae on his performance, and with an unconvincing air of arrogance, asked how his own interview was. Youngjae felt torn between the two; on the one hand, he was desperate to hear what Junhong had to say, and feel himself forgiven ( _you didn’t do anything wrong,_  a voice remarkably like Himchan’s said in his head), and that they could go into the arena having settled any misunderstandings or hard feelings, but on the other, this was his last chance to make sure Daehyun would stick up for him in the arena, and convince the Careers to keep him.

“Oh,” Daehyun said pleasantly, pretending to have only just noticed Junhong. “It’s the kid you said you let tag along that first day: the annoying, clingy one who you tried to get rid of. Is he still not leaving you alone?”

 _Shit_ . Youngjae wanted to protest, to disagree, _so_ badly, but his mouth refused to listen. He watched in mute frustration as Junhong took a step back, searching Youngjae’s face even more urgently for a sign. But worse than Junhong’s wounded look and the wetness of his eyes was how quickly his body seemed to wilt in dejection, as though this was what he had expected all along, and he was angry at himself for falling for Youngjae’s tricks yet again. He slipped away, disappearing behind the other tributes.

Youngjae turned to Daehyun. Never had that easy smile looked as repellent as it did then.

Daehyun leaned in, rested his arm on Youngjae’s shoulder, and used it to pull Youngjae’s back against his chest. “I’m trying,” he murmured, “to help you. Please don’t make it harder for me. What will the others think if they see you being friendly with that kid again?” His breath tickled Youngjae’s ear, as the hand hanging over Youngjae’s chest moved to softly graze against his throat, fingers drumming on his collarbone. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind.”

The way Youngjae started must have been almost comical for Daehyun. Surely the Careers were watching them. Youngjae grabbed Daehyun’s hand away from his collar, and gripped onto it tightly. He turned his head to the left and smiled widely at as much of Daehyun’s face as he could see. “Of course I haven’t,” he said softly. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

“Oh, you’re not, don’t worry. Just a bit irrational sometimes. Impulsive. Irresponsible.”

“And you aren’t?”

Daehyun squeezed Youngjae’s hand. “I’m from District 4. I’m useful, the other Careers want me, and the Capitol adores me. What do _you_ have to offer?”

All of a sudden, Youngjae’s blood seemed to chill. This was it. He’d blown his chance. He’d shown himself to be mediocre so many times that even Daehyun had begun doubting him, and maybe starting to think Youngjae wasn’t really needed. He moved his head to face forward. “Nothing that you don’t already have.”

Daehyun tilted his head to the side and looked at Youngjae curiously. “Then why did you try to get my attention?” His voice had softened.

“I don’t know. Why did you let me try?”

“I don’t know. Why did you smile at me that very first day, just before the opening ceremony?”

“I don’t know.”

Daehyun didn’t respond.

“Well we’ve reached a bit of a dead end here,” Youngjae said after a pause. He’d already lost Junhong, and now, the reason he gave him up in the first place, too. He tried to pull his hand away from Daehyun’s, but Daehyun’s hold was firm. It occurred to Youngjae how strange their position must look to the other tributes, for two people who were going to be urged to fight to the death in a matter of hours. “Why did you just watch and go along with it, then? To laugh at me behind my back?” Though Daehyun wouldn’t let go of his hand, Youngjae managed to twist out from the hold of his arm, so that they stood face to face instead.

“I think you _do_ know.”

Daehyun’s clipped tone stopped Youngjae from struggling. He instead looked in bewilderment at Daehyun, who soon grew impatient.

“And anyway,” he said with a pained smile, as he finally dropped Youngjae’s hand, “it seems you misjudged me. I’m glad I approached you in training. I just wanted to hear your side of it. I didn’t mean to make you think I was leading you on or messing around. If that was the case, I wouldn’t have put so much effort in, or carried on for so long. That’d be a waste of training time, don’t you think? I’m not that kind of a person anyway. I’m not fond of lies.”

What was Daehyun even trying to say? Most of the other tributes had gone to their floors now. They were running out of time. “Right.”

With a deep sigh, Daehyun rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t understand you either,” Youngjae replied tartly. “Why would you do all this for me if you thought I wasn’t worth the effort?”

“I never said that.”

“Well you implied it.”

Daehyun’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t? I don’t understand why we’re even arguing. We don’t have time for this.”

Youngjae shrugged, determinedly looking at the space behind Daehyun rather than at him.

“I thought we were friends?”

That got Youngjae’s attention. “You said before that nobody here was your friend. But then, that’s not what you said in your interview. I thought you weren’t fond of lies?”

“I said that before I even got to know you.”

Youngjae considered this strange boy before him. He still hadn’t been able to fully weigh his character. When he thought Daehyun was kind and friendly, and different from the other Career Tributes, he’d surprise him with his Career-like strength and cunning. Then there was the sharp contrast between his genuine sweet smile and his forced laugh. The relaxed side of him that Youngjae saw during training, compared to how he composed himself in public. The way he enjoyed basking in attention, and latched on to anybody who gave it to him, yet put a clear distance between himself and the other Careers. Dialogue, but no trust. And wouldn’t it be foolish to trust, anyway? Alliances like this were only temporary: a false sense of security whilst hunting down others, before turning against one another. There could only be one victor, after all. Yongguk hadn’t volunteered to make friends; he’d volunteered to kill.

“Then you’d take back what you said originally? Was what you said in your interview the truth?”

“I guess,” Daehyun said in an uncharacteristically timid voice. “Well, not completely. I only made one.”

Youngjae didn’t know if it was the anxiety before the Games, and the desperation for security that came with it, or real joy to be seen by Daehyun as a friend, but a bashful grin spread across his face. It seemed Youngjae was a fool too. “That’s nice to hear.”

“It’d also be nice to hear it was reciprocated.”

Youngjae blushed. “God, Daehyun, we’re not five,” he snapped.

Daehyun snorted. “It’s ok. I know you love me, deep down somewhere.”

They were now the only tributes left in front of the elevators. The Avoxes at the doors were eyeing them. The only choice left was to get in.

“Listen,” Daehyun said as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, tone urgent. “I don’t know what the terrain will be like, or what’ll happen in the first few minutes, but you shouldn’t be there during the bloodbath. Look for me in those first sixty seconds, and motion which way you’re going to run. Once the initial fighting’s finished, and I’m sure I’ve convinced the other Careers, we’ll come find you, ok?”

Youngjae nodded quickly. Questions about Daehyun not being able to convince them, or what he should do if they never came to look for him, died on his lips when Daehyun pulled him in for a tight but brief embrace.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Stay safe.”

The doors opened to reveal the dimly lit corridor of the fourth floor – it was late, after all. Daehyun stepped out, and smiled sadly at Youngjae. Suddenly, Youngjae felt compelled to say something back. He’d acted so emotionally detached compared to Daehyun.

“Good luck,” he said as the doors began to close, and Daehyun disappeared. And he really meant it, Youngjae realised, as the elevator continued up to the seventh floor. He wanted Daehyun to do well, not just for Youngjae’s chances in the arena – though that was the main reason – but if Youngjae didn’t make it, then he’d want Daehyun to win instead. At least he seemed to appreciate life for the right reasons. Or maybe Red Hair, because her winning would bring some fleeting happiness to their district, and give Himchan a neighbour. But the odds didn’t really seem to be in her favour. Either way, as long as it wasn’t one of the other Careers.

As Youngjae quietly crept down the corridor to his room, the clock ahead of him showed ten. Twelve hours left until the first sound of the gong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They walk away, slowing down for Youngjae when the stinging in his knees is too much or for Daehyun when his panting grows heavier, but his posture is stiff and he never reaches out to touch Youngjae. Youngjae avoids making eye contact with Daehyun, instead keeping his mouth shut and looking down at his feet. For once, Daehyun doesn’t seem to be eager to make small talk, so Youngjae loses himself in his thoughts.

Why did he leave his axe? It must have been carried away with Jongup’s body by a hovercraft by now. He doesn’t remember what was going through his head. He’s still in the arena: he’ll still need it. Would he even be able to use it, though? The only time he used it left him horrified and repulsed. He had liked Jongup well enough, but Daehyun? Could he do that Daehyun?

But there’s no other way he can get home. It’s just the two of them left in the entire arena; they are each other’s obstacles to freedom. He knew he’d have to do this from the start. But what was killing at the start? Something quick that he’d have to do without thinking too much, no different from hacking at a dummy in the training room. Reality is different.

How has Himchan lived with himself all this time? Not very well, Youngjae remembers, even though he never physically killed like Youngjae did. Youngjae recalls the dark circles under his eyes when Youngjae first saw him on the train after the Reaping. He hadn’t even been able to stand on stage in front of the audience like the mentors from other districts did. Ten years later, he was still so sensitive about his Games.

Youngjae wonders what _he’ll_ be like ten years from now, escorting two new children to their deaths every year. Would his family come and live with him in his new house in Victors’ Village, or would it just be him and Himchan? He can’t imagine going back and trying to live the life he had before any of this. He can’t imagine any kind of life, really: everything about his future seems bleak and dark. What did he do all day, talking about trivial things with friends he never really cared for, if he wasn’t fearing for his life?

Dragging himself along by Daehyun’s side, his life doesn’t seem like something to fear for anymore, and back home, something to value. He finds himself thinking about what Daehyun might have been like in his own district, but he’s too shy to ask, for some reason. He imagines Daehyun had a big family and was friends with everyone he spoke to, and taught children how to swim in the shallows of the ocean. He must have countless people who miss him right now, watching the Games fretfully, swearing at Youngjae under their breaths. Youngjae can’t blame them. He wouldn’t even be surprised if people from his own district were doing it too. Nobody likes a liar, after all, much less a hypocrite.

Daehyun deserves to go back home more than he does. He knows it, always did, but really thinking about it now is unsettling. Disheartening.

Jongup had told Youngjae he just hadn’t had a chance to prove himself yet. Youngjae looks at the dried blood on his hands, wondering if this counts as proving himself. Probably not what Jongup had in mind. His head sinks again.

“You’re beating yourself up too much,” Daehyun says with a sigh.

They’re sitting side by side on a pavement, though there’s a bigger space between them than there normally would be. Youngjae doesn’t remember whose idea it was. They had trudged along the dark streets for an hour or two, following the dim yellow trail of streetlights even further away from the city centre, until Daehyun stopped with one hand grasping on the air near Youngjae’s arm, the other hovering over his own stomach, and beads of sweat peppered around his face.

“What?” Youngjae asks, smiling in mock confusion. “I’m fine, just a bit tired.”

Daehyun shrugs, clearly not buying it but letting Youngjae keep to himself. “Sleep, then.”

Youngjae shakes his head slightly. “Not that kind of tired. It’s fine, I’ll be ok.”

Smiling sympathetically, Daehyun reaches across the gap to pat Youngjae’s shoulder. _Finally._ Instinctively, Youngjae leans into his touch, craving any kind of support, before shying away in shame.

“I’m fine,” he says again. He’s not quite sure who he’s trying to convince. Daring a quick glance at Daehyun, he sees how weary he is too. His mouth stopped bleeding a while ago, but a dark bruise mars his cheek. “Are you ok?”

“Me?” Daehyun asks.

Youngjae’s snarky reply dies on his lips; he doesn’t have the energy for wit. “He hit you really hard. It must hurt like hell.”

Daehyun’s confused expression softens. “I’m fine, too.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Youngjae chides, “you don’t need to try to look tough. He hit you so much. Nobody should be fine after that.” Daehyun was beaten because of _him_. “I was so scared.” His face burns as he reaches out to brush his fingers gently against Daehyun’s stomach, but Daehyun stops him with his hand, unable to move his body away.

“I’m stronger than I look, I’ll manage. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Youngjae frowns. “What happened to the boy who cried at his Reaping and was so nervous before the Opening Ceremony? You didn’t look like you were managing too well then.” He disregards Daehyun’s offended stare. “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have smiled.”

Surprisingly, Daehyun stays silent. That spurs Youngjae on even more.

“Why do you keep trying to watch out for me? I can look after myself. You focus on yourself.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Daehyun says. “I’m like this with everyone.” Sensing Youngjae’s displeasure, he continues quickly. “I just meant you’re thinking about it too much. He was attacking us anyway. You didn’t have much of a choice. Don’t forget where we are. Try not to get caught up in it or you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“Says you,” Youngjae replies, more heatedly than he intended. “You’re the one who stayed up feeling bad about defending yourself at the bloodbath days afterwards. Am I not allowed to feel a bit guilty right after – _Jongup_ – of all people?” He cuts across Daehyun before he can respond. “Sorry, was I supposed to be able to _kill easily_?” he says bitterly. “Am I weaker than you thought?” He nods. “Yeah, I’m weak. Himchan knows it, I know it, now you do too. The world knows it.”

“Youngjae,” Daehyun says carefully. “You know that’s not what I meant. You… you saved me, again. So similar to last time, but so different.”

“I didn’t,” Youngjae says. “I was the one who riled him up in the first place. I caused it. I’d rather he was angry than sad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I betrayed him. I didn’t want to see him sobbing about it. I wanted him to attack us, so we could fight back, protect ourselves, call it self-defense when he ended up bleeding on the floor. Still made me feel like shit, though.” He exhales heavily.

“ _What?_ How did you betray him?” Daehyun asks. “You just said what he’d done and said. You did what was right. We had to… shake him off somehow, I guess. That wasn’t the way I would have wanted to do it, but I’m glad we found out it was him. The one who killed everyone at the feast. Keeping him with us would have put our lives at risk. You were right: why else would he come back looking for us? He’s from District 1. He’s not an idiot.”

Youngjae peers at him cautiously. Daehyun looks back at him earnestly, trying to reassure him.

“You believed that?”

Daehyun leans away ever so slightly in surprise. “Believed what?”

Nervously, Youngjae lets out a sigh. He has to get this out before he thinks over it too much and backs out like the coward that he is. There’s no point anymore: he can’t carry on like he was supposed to. He’s already disappointed Himchan, showed that he isn’t as strong as he wishes he could be. He feels sick every time he pictures the lifeless way Jongup sank to the ground, his betrayed look. Junhong’s hurt look.

“Daehyun,” Youngjae begins, “there’s – there’s something I should tell you.”

Sensing the weight of Youngjae’s words, Daehyun’s voice drops to whisper. “What is it?”

Youngjae takes a deep breath. “District 10. They’re not – alive. They died, ages ago. When the mountain exploded. They died with the guy from 5. We're the only ones left in the Games.” He pauses. “I lied.”

Daehun nods. “I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're almost finished :((


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure you've read the note at the beginning of Chapter 11 if you haven't already!

“You – what?”

“I know. You’re a terrible liar, I told you. I was awake that night in the barn.”

_No._

“I saw their faces in the sky during the anthem. But you told us they were alive, so them being alive must have been good for you – something to help your luck in the Games – so I went along with it.”

Youngjae stares at him, speechless.

“I have something I should tell you, too,” Daehyun continues, wringing his hands.

So he has known all along? And not said anything? And still been on Youngjae’s side this whole time? Youngjae doesn’t understand: how has Daehyun _known_ he was a liar but still believed him, or at least pretended to?

“I’m really –” Daehyun begins, “I’m really sorry. Your friend from District 3. It was Yongguk who killed him. I should have told you before. You deserved to know.”

“You said you didn’t know?” Youngjae asks. There’s no hostility in his voice, just surprise and confusion. He’s still disorientated by Daehyun’s revelation.

“I didn’t know then, I promise!” Daehyun insists anxiously. “I only found out later, when you were in the shower: when I went outside looking for food with him. He told me. Said it really matter-of-factly, as if he was talking about pulling a weed out.” He pauses. “I told him not to tell anyone else. I told him if you knew, you’d get mad. He didn’t seem to care, but I persuaded him. I’m _really_ sorry. I thought – you spent so much effort trying to get into the Career circle, and it’d be a waste if you found out and tried to fight him or something. You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

“I did, and won.”

“What?”

“I’m not angry at you,” Youngjae says. “I have no right to be.”

“Of course you do. And what do you mean, you ‘won’?”

“I knew, too.”

Daehyun’s face pales.

“He still had blood on his sword right after the earthbreak. It was almost like he _wanted_ me to know, just to fuck with me. So I killed him. I fought him and won.”

Brows furrowed, Daehyun stares at him intently.

Youngjae swallows. _"I_ killed everyone at the Cornucopia, not Jongup.”

The way Daehyun’s mouth drops open makes him wish he could admit every lie he ever told in his life, if it meant this was the only one he could keep secret. But he has to finish what he’s started: no use stopping now.

“Junhong gave me his controller just before he died. Natural disasters. I made sure some of the things overlapped with Jongup’s controller, so I could frame him. Realised he was hiding one the night we stayed in the house. I got him to be more comfortable around me and encouraged him to tell me his thoughts so I could use them against him later. I got my revenge and made you believe someone else did it. Not so terrible a liar now, am I?” Youngjae says with a grimace-like smile. “Made you think I was innocent even though you knew I wasn’t worth shit.”

Too shocked, Daehyun says nothing for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d… go that far.” His voice trembles.

 _Fuck._ Youngjae wants to get out of his own skin: escape, cut himself free. “But, you know? Jongup really reminds me of Junhong. It’s like I did the same fucking thing again, only this time I’m not getting forgiven. It’s kind of hard getting someone’s forgiveness when you’re the one who sticks an axe in and murders them.”

Gnawing at his lower lip, Youngjae musters the courage to look at Daehyun fully. He expects surprise, disgust or horror, but nothing prepares him for the way Daehyun’s lower lip juts out pathetically and his eyes are glassy with hurt.

“You’re not going to forgive yourself either, are you?” he mumbles.

“Does it really matter?” Youngjae says. It doesn’t feel like the words are coming from his own mouth; his body seems to be moving of its own accord. “I don’t know. If I do, it’ll take a long time. Maybe I’ll just try not to think about it. Run away from it.” Run away from it, like he does with everything else.

“You’ll manage,” Daehyun says almost mechanically. He scrunches his nose and blinks rapidly. “If anyone will be ok after this hell, it’ll be you.”

Youngjae looks away in disappointment. Daehyun really does know nothing about him. Or – or maybe he knows too much: he doesn’t sound like he even believes his own words. He’s shown himself to be more aware than Youngjae thought. (Youngjae blushes in humiliation: how can he have been so _stupid_ to think Daehyun was blindly going to admire and follow him?) He knows the torment Youngjae would go through. He caught a glimpse of it after Jongup died.

“Hey,” Daehyun’s voice calls him out of his thoughts. “So what now? We’re still keeping with the original plan, right?” he asks tentatively. “We both help each other out if we can, but ultimately one of us won’t – won’t make it.”

Youngjae stares at him. “You trust me enough to believe I’m going to do what I said I would? You honestly think I’m not going to lie to you again and stab you in the back? We’re so close to the end. It wouldn’t be hard.

 _"Now_ you’re lying,” Daehyun says with a small, forced smile. “You’re transparent, Yoo Youngjae. You’re forgetting where I’m from: who I am. If I felt guilty killing, then so do you. If I won’t betray your trust, then neither will you.” There’s a warning in the glint in his eyes. “You don’t even have a weapon. What are you going to kill me with? Going to bash me on the head with your controller?” He lets out an odd laugh, reminiscent of how he held himself around the Careers during training.

Youngjae licks his lips. That’s not how Daehyun usually laughs around him. “I don’t have it anymore. I threw it in a bin near the Cornucopia straight after I used it. So I definitely wouldn’t be suspected of doing it. It’s probably destroyed, now.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Youngjae.”

That hurts. Daehyun might have known about District 10, but even then he hadn’t doubted that it was Jongup who had set everything off at the feast. Youngjae shouldn’t have confessed.

“It’s the best thing to do for both of us. So, deal?” Daehyun proposes, hand outstretched.

Carefully, Youngjae takes it and they shake hands. He winces: Daehyun must feel the roughness of the dried blood as their palms brush against each other afterwards. His hand falls to his side. “Deal.”

Daehyun turns to face forwards. His back is bent over uncomfortably.

“Here,” Youngjae says, reaching into his pocket and pulling two ration packs out. He passes one to Daehyun.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“The wrapper is still on. I haven’t poisoned it.”

“I never said you did.”

Youngjae sighs. He has no right to expect any better. “You need to eat to get your strength back,” he says as patiently as he can. “For your own good. See? I’m eating. We’ll be on even footing if you do, too.”

It takes many more words of reason and encouragement, but Daehyun finally peels the wrapper back and nibbles at the dry pastry. Relieved, Youngjae leans back with his arms behind him, palms flat on the ground – he bolts back upright. Ignoring Daehyun’s curious glance, Youngjae focuses on getting his breathing even again.

He has to make a choice. Nothing can be the same now that he’s opened his mouth and spat everything he’s done at Daehyun’s feet. This isn’t what he imagined his last day with Daehyun would be like. He takes in Daehyun’s soft features – the shadows under his eyes, the shape of his nose, the way his skin glows under the weak streetlamp, and his hair, flat with grime and dried sweat – and makes up his mind. But first, he wants to let go for a bit and pretend nothing happened. Just for a bit.

When Daehyun finally finishes eating, Youngjae takes the foil wrapper from him before he can think of standing up to find a bin. Youngjae crumples it together with his own wrapper, then opens them both out again, before slowly tearing them to pieces, letting the silver shreds flutter down to the road one by one.

After he’s finished, Youngjae inches across the kerb towards Daehyun. When Daehyun doesn’t move away, Youngjae leans over and rests his head on Daehyun’s shoulder. Still, Daehyun doesn’t seem to acknowledge him, so he shuffles even closer into the warmth of Daehyun’s side. There’s a sickening stab of guilt in his chest, but just for now, he tries to ignore it. “Do you hate me?” he murmurs. He doesn’t think he can get any more shameless.

Daehyun waits for a moment before he answers. “I wish you hadn’t hidden it from me in the first place. We could have done it together. You didn’t need to slander Jongup. He didn’t deserve to die a traitor’s death. That’s what disappoints me the most.”

“You would have killed outside of self-defence?”

“No,” Daehyun says slowly. “You’d still be the one pressing the button. I’d like to think I wouldn’t sink that low.”

Ashamed, Youngjae pulls his lips between his teeth. He’s glad they can’t see each other’s faces. “How are you still nice to me after everything? I don’t deserve it.”

“I know you don’t,” Daehyun replies, sighing.

“You should be furious with me. You should be beating me up at least.” He itches to say Daehyun should be killing him, wants to _ask_ Daehyun to kill him, even.

“You definitely don’t deserve that. That’d be too easy, too kind.” Daehyun purses his lips. “I overlooked a lot of things for you: made a lot of exceptions.”

Youngjae opens his mouth, but Daehyun continues.

“But you appreciated it. You still do. I _know_ you do. You were grateful for everything I did for you, but you still hid secrets from me even though I told you everything. It’s kind of embarrassing to think I told you so many of my worries, when now I don’t even know if even the trivial things you said were true. And something as big as District 10… Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you about Yongguk. Mainly for you, but maybe a little part of me wanted to hide something from you in return. And it bit at me all the time. I don’t know how you managed it.” He pauses. “But you didn’t, I suppose. You failed, didn’t you?”

Silently, Youngjae hooks his chin over the front of Daehyun’s shoulder.

“You weren’t supposed to tell me you were the one who did it. I wouldn’t have thought it. You felt guilty. Your little game didn’t work because you couldn’t play by your own rules.”

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae says quietly.

“What?”

Youngjae sighs. “If it counts for anything, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted things to be.”

Daehyun doesn’t try to look at him, but his hand lightly touches Youngjae’s waist. “It’s going to be daybreak soon.”

Youngjae hums into Daehyun’s shoulder in reply.

“Let’s just stay here. There’s no point walking anywhere.”

“Alright,” Youngjae agrees. His arm slowly curls around Daehyun’s back, until his hand reaches Daehyun’s stomach.

Daehyun’s body tenses a little, but he doesn’t try to move away this time.

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae repeats.

“Again?”

Youngjae’s hand drops to Daehyun’s thigh. “Did you ever get any gifts from your sponsors?”

Daehyun shakes his head. His hair tickles Youngjae’s ear. “You?”

“I – yeah. It wasn’t that useful, though. Just some balm for minor injuries. I kind of wish I’d saved it, now. It would’ve been good for you.”

“I should have guessed you would,” Daehyun sighs.

Youngjae bites the insides of his mouth. Daehyun was right: a physical punishment would be more than he deserves. What he deserves is distance and distrust.

They lapse into silence as the heaviness of night gives way to dawn. In the distance, the cityscape silhouette bleeds orange into the watery ink of the sky: the deadly stain of life on a steely resolve. No birds accompany the anticipation of a new day with their song. Youngjae doesn’t recall seeing or hearing birds in the arena before, but he only really notices it now, with nothing to distract him from Daehyun’s steady heartbeat and the cool sting of morning air on his dirty hands. He takes a furtive glance at the house behind him: the dull yellow paint on the door has seen better days, as have the crumbling walls. The windows are boarded up. He turns back.

“Daehyun?” he tries tentatively.

“Hm?”

“I’m not going to ask if you still see me as a friend, but I want you to know that I still do.”

Daehyun doesn’t reply, but he shifts in anticipation.

Youngjae spots the trident propped up against the kerb on Daehyun’s other side. He blinks quickly. “Don’t you think it’d be better for the both of us if you killed me?”

Daehyun’s shoulders sag slightly. “No, I said I wouldn’t. I won’t be the aggressor.” He gathers his breath. “Honestly, I don’t care. I think I’ve seen it all. I don’t feel like putting up a fight anymore. I just want it to be over. Home, dead, whatever.”

“No,” Youngjae says firmly, shaking his head vehemently, “this isn’t like you, Daehyun. You’re strong.”

“Can’t be strong all the time,” Daehyun says softly. “You said so.”

He draws away to see the side of Daehyun’s mouth pull up sadly. “Come here.”

Youngjae rises. He stretches his hand down to Daehyun, beckoning him. When Daehyun finally understands what Youngjae is doing, he holds Youngjae’s wrist and lets Youngjae pull him to his feet. He won’t look into Youngjae’s eyes properly, so Youngjae steps closer and wraps his arms around Daehyun’s neck.

At first Daehyun is still as Youngjae covers him with his warmth and his fingers grip the back of Daehyun’s collar, pulling them even closer together. It’s only when Youngjae releases a shaky breath against his ear that Daehyun brings his arms up to press against Youngjae’s back. Youngjae closes his eyes, trying to forget the last hour, and to lose himself in the feeling of a soothing embrace at the end of a long, rough day.

“You can consider yourself my friend if it makes you happy,” Daehyun breathes. His voice is feather-light, but the air around them is still, listening in too. “But if it’s just –”

“It does,” Youngjae says in a hoarse voice, hiding his face in Daehyun’s shoulder again. “I swear, it does.” He can’t find it in himself to care if Daehyun takes notice in the dampness on his shoulder, or the obsessive way Youngjae clenches and unclenches his fingers around his jacket.

“Ok. I understand.”

A strange sense of relief trickles through Youngjae, starting from the firm touch on his back. He lifts his head and gently clears his throat. It’s not forgiveness, but it’s something. Definitely something more than he hoped for.

“Youngjae?”

“Yeah?”

Daehyun exhales. He sounds nervous. “Make it quick? You owe me that much at least.”

 

* * *

  

The hours lying in bed with his eyes closed didn’t do anything for him. What would the landscape be like? Forest, plain, desert, mountain, snow? A forest would be his best hope: that would be the direction he’d run, and sign to Daehyun. At least the trees would provide food and shelter, and hide him from the other tributes. He’d been living among trees all his life.

How daring should he be at the start? He needed a weapon at least, in case it came to the worst. And some food and water, to give him a head start. He’d rather spend the first day putting as much space between himself and the Cornucopia, not trying to fill his stomach.

He wondered what Junhong was going to do. How had he got that 9 anyway? What if Junhong died in the bloodbath? What if _Daehyun_ died? What would Youngjae do then? Would the other Careers take him on without Daehyun?

Youngjae agitatedly turned over again. Half past two. He kicked the covers to the bottom of the bed and scrambled off it. This still air was going to drown him; he needed a change of scenery. The corridor was slightly darker, and the polished wooden floor felt refreshingly cool under his bare feet. As he shuffled down it, he realised that there was somebody in the sitting room; the door was ajar, and there was a line of pale yellow light on the wall opposite. When Youngjae reached it, he silently peered through the crack, and saw Himchan perched tensely on the edge of a sofa, his back hunched forward. He was completely still, with his face cupped in his hands, and his elbows digging into his knees. He must have heard something, because he suddenly looked up.

“Youngjae?”

Youngjae stepped back.

“Youngjae, is that you?”

There was something in his voice that drew Youngjae back to the light.

“Come in, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Cautiously, Youngjae stepped forward, and, trying to avoid Himchan’s penetrating look, sank into the armchair across from him and pulled his knees up to his chin.

“I –” Himchan started.

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae interrupted. “I shouldn’t have asked questions like those. I was overstepping my boundaries, I know.”

Himchan was quiet for a moment. “I want to say it’s ok, and that I forgive you, and that it’s my fault for being so silly and sensitive about this – because honestly, it is – but…” He smiled lopsidedly. He looked younger and slightly less intimidating in casual clothes and with his damp hair down for once. “I haven’t known you for a very long time, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person to apologise easily. I feel like I should milk this for all its worth.”

 _Really?_ Youngjae’s jaw dropped slightly in disbelief, and he gave Himchan a scathing look.

“What, am I not right about that?” Himchan said gleefully.

Youngjae huffed. “Don’t make me take it back.”

Himchan cackled. “That's my boy.”

Warmth spread through Youngjae all the way to his fingertips. How long had it been since his parents had shown him any affection like that?

“You want to know how my Games went?” Himchan said finally. “Most of the advice I’ve given you so far is from my own experience. I wasn’t as good at mixing with everyone as you are, but I was really good-looking, which gained me some valuable support from the Capitol.  

“I teamed up with another group of tributes. Not the Careers, but from 8 and 9. It gave us the chance to survive we would never have had if we’d tried to brave it alone. But then we did much better than we thought we would: the Careers were all dead, and we’d reached the final eight. We really should have agreed to split up, or had a fight or something, but the others kept going. I knew I had to do something. So I started to kill them off, one by one, without anybody realising it was me. Not physically, mind you,” he said hastily, peering at Youngjae as though for approval. “I wouldn’t want you to think of me as a murderer. I just did or said things I knew would end up in their deaths. Once, when I went foraging for mushrooms with one of the other boys, he asked me if the ones we found were safe, and I said yes. I knew he was stupid and hadn’t bothered to learn anything about food in training. The others knew that too, so they believed me when I went running back to tell them he’d eaten something without asking me first, and died. It was one of those types developed by the Capitol to make the poison instant.

“And well, it worked, didn’t it? Here I am, alive and well,” Himchan said with a grimace. “But being attractive came to bite me after I became a victor, and now it’s just another thing that I hate about myself. And it’s a bit lonely in my cold house in the Victors’ Village, with only my guilt and nightmares to keep me company.” He smiled widely, showing off his teeth.

Youngjae stared at Himchan in shock. He never thought Himchan could speak with so much self-loathing.

“So if you’re as desperate to live as I was, and you don’t mind abandoning your morals in there, then I say you should go for it. You have a good excuse: the arena changes everyone. When you’re surrounded with so much death and violence, human instinct to survive kicks in. It’s only natural, but it still doesn’t make you feel any better about it.” He sighed. “I don’t know what it is about you – maybe it’s because you remind me of myself so much – but I genuinely want you to make it out alive. I want you to win, and come back home. Maybe that’s why I’ve insisted on this method so much. I’m sorry, it’s a bit selfish of me, and I know I shouldn’t pick favourites, but I thought you would appreciate it too. Are you… are you still going to do it?”

Touched and astonished, Youngjae had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “Well you were right before… there’s no way I can survive on my own. I may as well go with it, and see how it goes from there?” he said uncertainly. “I understand that the arena is going to change everyone, and I don’t blame you or see you any differently for what you did.”

“That… that means a lot,” Himchan said gratefully.

“I’m glad we got to talk before the Games started,” Youngjae said in a small voice. At least he’d settled the issue with Himchan.

Himchan’s smile reached his eyes, and his nose crinkled. It was one of the strangest yet most wonderful things Youngjae had ever seen – to think he had been so intimidated by Himchan before! “You should try to get some sleep. I won’t be able to see you before you leave tomorrow. They’ll take you to the catacombs and get you prepared there.”

“Then it’s goodbye for now?” Youngjae said, rising to his feet.

Himchan nodded and opened his arms. “For now,” he repeated, giving Youngjae a bear-like hug, and ruffling his hair after he let go.

“Thanks for everything, Himchan. You really –”

Youngjae’s voice cracked, and he thought it might be wiser to stop talking now. Fortunately, Himchan caught on.

“Stay safe, kid. I know you can do this. You’ll be out in no time. I’ll be right behind you, no matter what happens in there.”

Youngjae nodded, and with one final thankful smile, walked back into the dark.

 

* * *

 

 _What?_ Youngjae’s eyes widen.

“I don’t want more pain. Just – do it quickly.”

Youngjae feels numb. “Yeah – ok,” he stammers. Holding his breath, he drops his arms and pulls away; Daehyun lets go too and lowers his head.

Without looking away from Daehyun, Youngjae steps to the side and crouches low enough to hold the trident before standing to his full height again. In front of him, Daehyun shakes, wracked with emotion, and sinks his head even lower. Youngjae doesn’t attempt to wipe his own tears away either.

“I’m sorry,” he says, one more time. The lump in his throat won’t allow for much more.

Daehyun sniffles, but still won’t look up. “I know.”

The trident in Youngjae’s hand feels unfamiliar. He walks back to Daehyun and faces his side. Slowly, he raises it so that it’s held horizontally at arm’s length, with one hand tightly gripping near each end.

So much power in his grasp; he can be hauled out of this slaughterhouse in under a minute, if he wants to. Go home, see his parents, his brother, his friends. Himchan. But he’s made up his mind. If nothing else, at least he can leave the arena the way he means to. _I’m sorry,_  he mouths. He hopes Himchan understands it’s for him this time.

Youngjae waits only another second, before Daehyun has enough time to brace himself for the impact, then pushes the arm of the trident forward sharply against Daehyun’s shoulder. With a loud gasp, Daehyun falls back, hitting the ground hard.

Immediately, Youngjae rushes back to the door of the house behind him. He throws himself against it before frantically clawing at the door knob. To his surprise, the door creaks open. Without a last glance at the early morning light, he slips into the shadows. The door slams shut before he even touches it; blindly, he feels for the lock. It clicks.

This is it. His heart thumps loudly in the empty silence. There’s a vile stench coming from somewhere. Upstairs? He’s not sure. He doesn’t want to know. Violent tremors shake his body as leans back against the door, but there are no more tears. If Himchan can see him, maybe he won’t be so angry. The loud _tap tap_ of the trident’s tip bouncing off the wood heightens his fear, so he lets it fall with a ringing clatter. He can’t see a thing.

He feels exhausted all of a sudden, as if all the emotions he’s been straining himself to control have gone, leaving behind aching muscles and a throbbing headache. Still shivering, he rests his head back against the door and closes his eyes. He thinks he hears his name from outside. It’s muffled and faint. Then he hears it again, much closer, and the fear shrouding it is tangible. The loud hurried slapping of Daehyun’s palm against the door unnerves him. He can _feel_ Daehyun’s desperation in the impact on his shoulders. It’s the wrench of Daehyun’s voice at his heart that sharpens his senses enough for him to catch the scratching sound at the end of the hallway.

They’re here. It didn’t take long, he realises: fear, emotion – whatever it is that triggers the mutts – Youngjae must have a lot of it. He trembles. It would be so easy to unlock the door and let Daehyun pull him out into the fresh air, but he can’t. He won’t. With much difficulty he opens his eyes again, but he still sees nothing but pitch black. Something scuttles across the landing upstairs. Youngjae’s nails press into the door behind him.

 _“Youngjae!”_ Daehyun screams, pounding harder. _“Open the door! What are you doing?”_

The scraping sound gets louder, or closer. Maybe Daehyun’s noise attracts more mutts. Youngjae can’t tell. The air is heavy with that and the stink, and despite his eyes beginning to droop, Youngjae feels filthy and suffocated. He drunkenly claws at the skin on his arms; he thinks he draws blood.

_“Youngjae, stop it! Get the fuck out!”_

He fights to keep his breathing steady, but he has trouble focusing: he’s completely drained. His body slumps further down the door. Dimly, he registers that was the first time he heard Daehyun swear.

Somewhere in front of him the staircase creaks. With each footfall comes a scrape of claws, and only a few metres away in the hall, the sniffing begins.

Youngjae stills with terror. A weak sob escapes his lips. Outside, Daehyun cries his name one more time before his voice breaks. He stops hitting the door.

Despite the confusion between his heart beating wildly and his consciousness beginning to slip away, he’s grateful for the tiredness. This way it might not hurt as much. He’s glad Daehyun has stopped calling him.

Youngjae has drawn blood after all: it trickles down his arms slowly and drips off his fingertips. He feels a warm, damp gust of air. Its _breath._ He shudders again. There’s no space to back away.

All of a sudden, the sounds stop. Youngjae’s torn breaths echo in the dark, punctuated by the erratic drops of blood against the rotten wooden floorboards. He curls his fists, letting the blood pool in his palms instead.

A hideous snarl to his left punctures the silence.

Something clamps its jaws around his arm. Youngjae screams: its teeth sink into his flesh, and it pulls at his arm like a ragdoll. Another sharp stab in his thigh. He’s never felt pain like this before. He writhes helplessly, blind and barely awake, when a third mutt carves a shallow slash down his chest. Instinctively, he pushes it away. Its skin is damp and clammy. Youngjae draws his hand back in revulsion. It leaps back on him, clawing at his ribs.

Amidst the shock and pain and horror, he faintly notices Daehyun banging on the door behind him again. Youngjae isn’t sure if it’s just because of his hysterical state, but Daehyun seems even more frantic.

He feels his body being dragged to the floor. More claws and teeth tear at him, and his screams die down to weak moans of agony. He doesn’t have the energy to resist anymore. Daehyun’s voice fades out too. He can’t grasp anything; everything dissolves under his touch, ideas dissipating before they can exist. Nothing is real. Darkness.

The cannon booms loudly at sunrise. Trumpets celebrate the last death of the Games. The arena is flooded with a dazzling eruption of cheers from the Capitol.

Still, Daehyun leans on the door, forehead pressed against chipped yellow paint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~hahahahhahahahhhha i'm sorry~~
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> Woah, ok. First things first, not going to lie: I'm really happy with myself for actually persevering and going through with this idea until the end. I had the idea of merging a Hunger Games AU and One Shot AU one breaktime before maths class near the end of my last year of school, but I didn't have time to think about it too much because I had exams to prepare for and a university to get into haha. So anyway, I started planning and writing in the summer holidays, and when I started uni, at the weekends. It took me a long time (I'm ridiculously slow at writing) and I had times when I didn't feel like writing at all, but in the end I still came back to it and carried on. It's been over a year since I first had the idea for this piece, and it is by far the longest one I have ever written, so yeah, I'm happy!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I really hope you all liked it (even though it's not the most pleasant read oops). And especially thank you so much to those of you who commented throughout - you really helped make it worth the effort. (Of course, I write because I _like_ it, I want to improve, and I want to share my ideas with all you lovely fans of B.A.P, but positive feedback is always so uplifting and encouraging!)
> 
>  **I'm going to mark the fic as complete, but it's not _really_ finished. I'm planning on hopefully adding a short epilogue and another little extra something later, so keep an eye out for them! **
> 
> And if you ever want to bother me on tumblr with fic ideas (or anything really) I'm [@bapofficial](http://bapofficial.tumblr.com) :D
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> \- Semi
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> PS: I'll just leave [this](https://68.media.tumblr.com/eadebfc09205b64562f932f9ee951173/tumblr_orrlrcSCnm1uvm5kso1_1280.png) here lmao (I couldn't find the tumblr photoset it's from!! If anyone knows please let me know!)
> 
> (hahahhaha have [this](http://bapofficial.tumblr.com/post/151331166140/confess-bap-in-2012-when-bap-were-asked) too) (I hate myself)


	13. Epilogue

Yellow. The walls of the room are a loud, cheery shade of yellow with not a single dent or mark. It reminds Daehyun of the early afternoon sun of District 4: overbearing and intrusive. His eyes ache. When he narrows them, the yellow darkens and dulls. In his peripheral vision he can see paint-cracks and strips of old wood. 

He closes his eyes fully. Earlier that day – or maybe yesterday, he doesn’t remember – his mentor had come to visit him at his bedside. She’d told him to try and pretend to be fine, at least until he got back home. There was still the Victor’s ceremony and interview to get through first.

Slowly, Daehyun turns on his side and curls up, drawing his knees close to his chest. He barely takes up a quarter of the space on the bed, but even that is too much. 

It’s been a few days since he first woke up here. Though it feels like it’s been much longer, he still flinches with anxiety at the slightest sound, half-expecting to hear a cannon or suddenly need to get up and run. He can’t possibly be like the Daehyun from the interviews before the Games this time. 

He sighs and tries to clear his thoughts. That seems to be all he’s done since he was brought back to the Training Centre. He doesn’t remember leaving the arena. He’s not entirely sure he  _ has _ left it, really. But he’s back in the Capitol, healed and rested and so fucking  _ lonely. _

It doesn’t work. He pulls the white sheet over his head when the first tear rolls down to his ear. He’s not supposed to be here, alive. That last hug before the end – that was a goodbye, that was Youngjae asking for permission, and Daehyun giving it to him. He was willing to let Youngjae go home. He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep living in a world of masked lies. And Youngjae had thrown himself to his own death to leave Daehyun with the piercing truth.

He hears Youngjae’s screams every night. Feels the door rattle beneath his hands with the impact of the beasts’ attacks. Sees the dull yellow paint, peeling back: the foil in Youngjae’s hands, falling to the ground, crumpled and torn. Now the door is locked forever. Daehyun shakes, his sobs growing heavier. Youngjae apologised so many times and  _ cried _ into his shoulder, and not once did Daehyun comfort him, let alone say he forgave him. What kind of sickening guilt led Youngjae to sacrifice himself and everything he’d done, for the sake of someone as heartless as Daehyun? 

Daehyun doesn’t deserve it. He never deserved a friend like Youngjae, who had more love than he knew what to do with. Smiling at a pathetic Career Tribute because he must have seen clips of him crying at his reaping, then approaching him to cheer him up. Disagreeing with Daehyun enjoying the attention of the Capitol audience because he knew they didn’t actually care about him – what kind of murdering liar does that? Not wanting to go into the arena before talking with the kid from District 3 because even  _ then _ , he felt guilty. 

Gripping the sheet tighter, Daehyun rubs his damp hair against the pillowcase. His ear and neck are wet too. He roughly wipes them with his sleeve to get rid of the discomfort. Breathing heavily, he throws the sheet back. The air soothes him enough for him to fall back into a fitful sleep.

Like the ebb of the ocean at his feet, Daehyun wakes from one nightmare to tumble into the next, pats the sweat down only to find his bedclothes drenched again. He's too agitated to rest, but too exhausted to get up and collect his thoughts. He feverishly tosses and turns, desperate for the feel of cold fabric against his cheek. The cool touch of the door against his forehead isn't enough.

He’s woken by his old prep team and stylist. He sits, dazed, as they clean him up and then dress him. Somebody tells him to lift his chin higher and smile a little more. Daehyun blanks out again, until he realises he’s in the waiting room beneath the stage. The muted rumble of the audience sets his leg off bouncing again. They’ve come to see him pretend to be like a Capitol spectator as he watches the compiled footage from the Games, cheering and gasping in the right places as if he didn’t see some of the tributes die right in front of his eyes. He feels nauseous.

_ He _ should be the one here, watching Daehyun’s death. At least he’d know how to work the crowd into thinking he was happy.

A man in a suit has been standing in front of him for a while now, but has done nothing else to demand Daehyun’s attention. Despite seeming new, the fabric of the suit is covered in lint, and the man’s shirt is creased and only half-tucked. Slowly, Daehyun raises his gaze to look at the man’s face, taking in the strong eyebrows and the displeased scowl. Everything about him exudes confidence apart from his bloodshot eyes. Daehyun shifts in his seat, uncomfortable under the man’s unsettling stare.

“Here,” he says in a deep voice, raspy from disuse, thrusting his hand to Daehyun.

Confused, Daehyun looks at the man’s hand. There’s a small folded piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. With an unsteady hand, Daehyun takes it from him and lets it fall into his lap. He turns back up to the man’s face. He’s not sure what to say.

“Keep it safe. You might want it when you get back home. To your new house.”

Still, Daehyun doesn’t look at the paper. He feels a sudden urge to tear it into pieces, like when – 

“I’m District 7’s mentor.”

Daehyun’s eyes immediately widen. He scrambles to unfold the paper as quickly as he can without ripping it. He doesn’t know what to expect, but a series of messily scrawled numbers isn’t what he had hoped for. He stares at the man expectantly.

“I wanted him to live as much as you did.”

Daehyun blushes and his shoulders sag. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

He’s the reason the man isn’t getting ready to get on a train with his mentee, homeward bound. He must despise Daehyun.

“He gave his chance at life to you because he thought you’d do better things with it. The least you can do is appreciate it instead of moping about.”

“Excuse me?” Daehyun retorts, but his voice cracks. He doesn’t needed to be reminded that he’s useless. He knows he wasn’t supposed to live. “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” the man replies smartly.

Daehyun bites the inside of his cheek. How close were they?

The man’s expression softens slightly. “He’d want you to have someone to talk to. It’ll help. It’d be good, for both of us.”

Both of them? Nervously, Daehyun nods his head, partly in thanks, partly as an apology. He carefully folds the paper back up again and slips it into his jacket pocket. When he looks back up, the man is gone.

His team bustles in a minute later and pulls him to his feet, ready for the ceremony. The footage from the Games is a painful blur, but some sadistic part of him can’t help paying attention when it’s just him and Youngjae in the shot: in training, after the interviews, when Daehyun first found him in the forest, in the house, at night at the Cornucopia, at the end. Even then, he notices some scenes are missing; the Gamemakers must be trying to tone things down a little. The focus of the closing scene is Youngjae being torn to pieces, and there’s no shot of Daehyun banging against the door at all. Even with the night-camera, the inside of the house is quite dark, but Daehyun can distinguish Youngjae’s limbs from the hideous claws and scales. He looks down before he can cry on television again. The real screams are haunting enough.

The rest of his stay in the Capitol passes in a hectic flurry of camera flashes and pompous jokes that he’s too distracted to laugh at. He spaces out a several times in the interview and has too many delayed responses, but then it’s over. He’s on the train in simple clothes, and the skyscrapers gradually decay into farmhouses. He turns away from the window and folds his legs safely beneath him on the seat. He slides his hand into his pocket. 

He’d been keeping hold of the paper, moving it from one suit to the next. He’d even learnt the numbers, just in case. He’s not sure how calling the man will help at all, but for his friend’s sake he’ll try. 

Daehyun’s fingers tightly clench around the paper, and he breathes in shakily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fjkign hell I just realised that [these nasties](http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Vile_Creature) were probably what I had in my head when I was imagining the mutts...... this game ruined me man those things were both terrifying and disgusting ewww let's just pretend this never happened ok youngjae cmere I'm gonna wrap you up in a blanket and give you milk and choc chip cookies and everyone is alive and happy to greet you as you wake up in your bed like one of the multiple endings of lord of the rings when frodo wakes up and everyone is alive and happy, even the ones he thought were dead ok everyone in bap is h apyppy and alive and dae gets his bff back and they all move away together somewhere nice and sunny :))))))))) hahah ha i hate myslef
> 
> anyway only one last chapter of extra happy things and fluff to go!!!!


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